Taking Sides
by Yami B666
Summary: Garth/Reaver slash. Garth returns to Albion after five years and finds a plethora of changes.
1. Reunion

The weather in Bloodstone was as miserable as ever. Garth sat by the fire in the Leper's Arms inn, wondering how he was going to cope with the cold, when in Samarkand he had barely required a shirt. He was just going to have to grow used to it again.

Albion had changed much during his absence, if Bloodstone was anything to go by. Houses and shops had been patched up, and orders of the Albion guard patrolled the once lawless streets. The statue of Sparrow down by the waterfront remained untouched, a constant reminder to the town's residents of their renovator.

Garth wasn't really surprised to find that Sparrow had fixed up Bloodstone. Reaver had owned the town after all, and though Sparrow wasn't a petty man, Garth wouldn't put it past him to do this just to spite the Thief. That renovating the town had helped so many people was a fortunate by-product. Sparrow really didn't like Reaver, and Garth couldn't blame him. They had remained together for the briefest of times in Samarkand before Reaver had bounded off without so much as a goodbye. Garth had been quite happy to see the back of him. He could only listen to Reaver talk about Reaver for so long. He _had _snapped at Reaver a few times; Sparrow had to be some sort of saint to be able to suck up to Reaver, to get him to join their cause.

The one thing Garth had been surprised to hear about Sparrow was that he and his family were now living in Castle Fairfax. That he had been crowned King had been no shock - Sparrow was like Albion's dumpling, he was so popular - but that he had chosen to live in the place of his childhood trauma was startling. Garth personally never wanted to see the place again. Even thinking of it made him uneasy, reminded him that he had aided a madman, of his failure to prevent the death of Sparrow's sister. He found it difficult to look Sparrow in the eye, knowing that he could have saved that little girl and kept Sparrow from a world of hurt.

He would have to see Sparrow eventually. The man would throttle him if he found out Garth had returned without letting him know. Garth chuckled absently and sipped his water. The salty air parched his throat.

His thoughts drifted to Hammer. Though that hadn't really gotten along, she was the Hero that Garth had spent the most time with, and he missed her at times. She was witty, despite her rough appearance, and he missed their banter. He hoped she was all right, studying up north with the warrior monks. The whole ordeal with Lucien had affected her more than she liked to let on.

He was pulled from his thoughts when a drunkard, probably in his mid thirties, saw fit to join him at his table. Garth prepared himself for confrontation, well aware of how violent drunks could be, but this man seemed amiable.

"Yer a new face!" he exclaimed, plunking down in the chair opposite. "You just get here?"

Garth nodded silently. He found it difficult to trust after everything he had been through.

"I thought so. Yer from Samarkand, ain't ya?" the man smiled, and Garth cautiously decided that he was harmless enough.

"That's right," he said. He took a calculated sip from his drink, watching the man over his tankard.

"Yer accent ain't as thick as the others though. You been here before?"

"I've spent most of my life here." Garth replied. "I left five years ago."

The man threw his hands into the air. "Five years, 'e says! You got some catchin' up to do!" He lowered his hands and extended the right one. "Name's John," he said simply.

Garth took his hand and shook it. "Garth."

"They say you get them marks when you're a Will user," John said suddenly. "Are you that Garth what told Lucien to shove it some years back?"

Perhaps John wasn't the simpleton Garth had pegged him as.

"Indeed, though it wasn't quite like that," he replied carefully. "We simply disagreed, and I left his service."

John didn't pay any attention. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed, banging his beer tankard on the table for emphasis. "Bloody brilliant! I like a man with some balls! Ain't never been the same around 'ere since the bastard sent his men in to get Reaver." He sobered suddenly, withdrawing into himself. "I lost me sister in that attack." he said quietly. "Her little girl, too."

Garth remembered that day all too well, but Theresa had ordered him and Hammer to wait for Reaver and Sparrow on the beach, and to stay away from the town. Hammer had wanted to help the people so badly that she had almost taken off. Garth felt a pang of guilt now, knowing that he could have saved this man's family.

"I'm sorry," he said formally.

John's grin returned, though his outgoing manner remained elusive. "Thanks," he said. "We're copin', for the most part. And we feel safer knowin' we've got _trained_ guards to protect our arses!" He gave a bark of laughter.

Though Garth was sure he knew the answer, he had to ask to confirm his suspicions. "Has Reaver returned to Bloodstone?"

"Oh, heavens, no!" John was laughing now, his brief bout of grief forgotten. "He ain't been 'ere since the attack that day! Pity, he was a fun bloke to party with. I heard he's in Oakfield now."

"Oakfield?" _That _had taken Garth by surprise.

John nodded enthusiastically. "You know, that place where them Shadow Templers attacked a couple o' years back?" His grin widened when Garth nodded. "I 'eard he helped rebuilt the place; restore it to its former glory and all that bull. He's prob'ly the mayor or something now."

"Why?"

"Beats me. You'd have to ask him." John shrugged. "They say the King's got something' to do with it, though."

Of course Sparrow had something to do with it, Garth realised. If Reaver had really returned, Sparrow would want to keep him well within the public eye, his every movement scrutinised, and what better way to do that than to put him in charge of an entire town?

That didn't explain why Reaver had agreed to such a thing, though. Reaver was distrustful as much as he was untrustworthy. And he was smart - he would have realised Sparrow's intentions.

"Temple o' Light's back too," John continued, and Garth's attention quickly snapped back to him. "Run by a woman what's teaching them monks to fight. Mallet or something' 'er name is."

Garth cocked an eyebrow, hiding his surprise well. "You mean Hammer," he said plainly.

John pointed at Garth excitedly. "Yeah, yeah, that's it!" he yelled, bouncing in his seat. "She ain't one to piss off, if ya catch me drift."

Garth chuckled, though his mind was racing. "No, she isn't," he said lightly. He was amazed that Hammer could live in the same town as Reaver; she had hated him as much as Sparrow had. Garth figured she was there to keep an eye on Reaver personally. There was none Sparrow trusted more than Hammer.

He decided that on the morrow, he would ferry to Westcliff, and from there he would catch a coach to Oakfield. He wanted to know exactly what the hell was going on with his fellow Heroes.

**

Even in the dimming light followed sunset, it was plain to see that Oakfield was flourishing again. Garth had last visited the place with Hammer, when Sparrow was fetching Reaver. Back then, it had been an ideal setting for a horror story; the fields were brown, the trees were barely alive, houses were ruined, and people barely dared to venture outside. Now, the greenery was returning, plant life flourished, beautiful houses lined the streets and curious gazes followed Garth wherever he went. He could forgive them for their stares: he doubted many of them had ever seen a Samarkand native before, let alone one covered in Will scars.

At the Sandgoose inn, the looks increased; there were already many people here. Some were crowded around the town's bard, their first or second drink for the night in hand. Others were choosing to test their luck against the Games Master. Most were simply lounging around. Aside from the Albion Guard uniform, Garth noticed a reoccurring outfit: a short sleeved, lightly coloured robe that ended above the knees, pulled in by a cord at the waist, tight trousers that were tucked into calf-high boots, and black, fingerless gloves. Perhaps these were the new Temple of Light monks. John may have been a drunkard, but his information proved true enough.

Garth paused, wondering whom he should see first. From his standing point, he could see what was obviously the largest house in Oakfield, located by the sea and overlooking the rest of the town. That was most likely Reaver's house. The Temple of Light was located on a hill just outside Oakfield, Garth knew, but he had no idea where Hammer actually lived. He supposed Reaver's place would be a good starting point, then.

He sighed and followed the wide streets, making his way towards the mansion. To one side of him fields stretched endlessly, green as they had been before the Temple of Shadows attack. But to the other side of him, houses and houses lined the streets, the ocean barely visible between them. Oakfield was beginning to rival Bowerstone.

That was definitely Reaver's doing, Garth knew. He would restore Oakfield, but not to its original form. He was creating a whole new town. Despite all the guards and the apparent lawfulness of the town, Reaver had still found a way to tell Sparrow to stick it. Sparrow had loved Oakfield before its destruction.

Garth shook his head, and chuckled in spite of himself. As much as he disliked the man, he had to admire Reaver's dedication; if Reaver didn't like someone, he would always find a way to slight them.

Reaver's house was more beautiful than his old mansion in Bloodstone. The garden was larger, one side finishing at the small cliff that overlooked the ocean. The house was huge, and Garth could only guess how many rooms it had. Nodding to the man working in the garden, he climbed the steps to the front door and rapped on it.

"The Master don't like visitors after dark," the gardener said suddenly. Garth looked at him thoughtfully.

"It's a good thing the sun is still setting then, isn't it?" he replied. The gardener laughed.

"Fair enough. But he won't answer the door."

Garth turned his gaze back to the door. Was Reaver the type to lock his doors? Garth doubted it. Reaver was so assured of his own abilities that he would think no one would dare to rob him and make it out alive.

"Of course he wouldn't," Garth murmured, answering the gardener. Ignoring the man's alarmed exclamation, he pushed open the door and went inside.

The foyer was only subduedly decorated, but that simply added to its charm. Surprisingly enough, the walls weren't lined with portraits of Reaver, though perhaps he simply hadn't gotten around to commissioning any yet. The staircase probably led to Reaver's bedroom, the one place Garth wanted to go even less than Castle Fairfax. He'd heard tales of Reaver's carnal exploits, after all.

He went through the door to his left, and found himself in the sitting room. Bookshelves lined one wall, and Garth itched to examine them. A mahogany desk was by the window, a small fire roared in the fireplace, and Reaver was sitting in one of the armchairs in the centre of the room, reading a book. He hadn't looked up once, but Garth knew Reaver knew he was there. The Hero of Skill's senses were especially sharp, he probably heard the door open.

"The time: can you tell it?"

Reaver didn't bother to look up from his book when he spoke. Garth smiled grimly. Every single one of Reaver's expressions were perfectly practiced; Garth wanted to startle him into showing true emotion.

"Of course I can." he replied calmly.

Reaver's head shot up, and for a split second Garth saw the surprise on his face. It was gone a moment later.

"Ah, Mage. To what do I owe the pleasure?" his tone was amiable. "Are you thirsty? Hungry? Frisky? I can have all three taken care of at once, if it pleases you."

He gestured to an armchair across from him. Garth sat, and found that he was actually thirsty - he hadn't really had anything since leaving Bloodstone, but he could live without food. Water, however…

"Water would be much appreciated." he said. He raised an eyebrow. "Kindly leave out the prostitutes."

Reaver snorted. "Surely you didn't expect me to employ a prostitute? You never know what you may catch. Regardless, half the fun of bedding someone is the thrill of the chase!"

Garth was about to comment when Reaver plucked a small bell from the coffee table and rang it delicately.

"I do love this part," he gushed to Garth, and then a plump, middle-aged woman with a sweet face hurried through the door. "See! They come when they're called!"

If the woman was offended by Reaver's words, she hid it well. "How can I help you?" she asked, her lips curling into a smile.

"I have a most welcome guest," Reaver said, a note of condescension not entirely absent from his voice. "He needs water." he glanced at Garth suddenly. "Or would he prefer wine?"

Garth baulked at the suggestion; he couldn't help it. He _hated _alcohol in all its forms. Reaver chuckled.

"I guess that means no."

He spoke to the maid a little more, but Garth paid no attention. He was too busy just _looking _at Reaver.

He had never really taken notice of Reaver; during the whole ordeal with Lucien, he just hadn't had time to scrutinise their newest recruit. But now he had all the time in the world, and Reaver's dashing attractiveness hit Garth like a powerful wind. Reaver was tall and proud, not a hair out of place even though he tossed his head to laugh or scoff. His smile was both enticing and dangerous, as though daring its recipient to try their luck with him. His eyes were a greenish grey and crinkled charmingly in the corners (perhaps he was physically older than Garth had first thought?). His skin was a golden brown, and the hue suggested that perhaps his blood wasn't entirely Alban.

Garth was captivated.

"You're staring."

Reaver's blunt observation pulled Garth from his thoughts. It took all of his self control not to blush.

"My apologies," he said. "It's just… It's been a while."

"Five years in fact, if I've counted correctly." Reaver nodded, that rottenly alluring smile still in place. Garth wanted to zap it off. He stayed silent, however, as the maid returned with a large glass of sparkling clear water.

"Thank you," he said, taking it. She smiled.

"I'll begin preparing dinner soon, Sir," she said to Reaver. "Will your guest be staying?"

"Yes," Reaver replied before Garth could speak. The maid curtsied and quit the room.

"Such a brilliant cook," Reaver mused, to himself more than to Garth. "I'm quite pleased at the chance to show her off." His eyes returned to Garth suddenly. Garth returned the gaze evenly as he sipped his drink. He was pleased to find it icy cold.

"Did Sparrow send you?" Reaver asked finally.

Garth cocked an eyebrow; his suspicions had been correct. Sparrow had planted Hammer here to spy on Reaver.

He didn't answer right away, preferring to let Reaver simmer in his paranoia for a moment as he sipped his drink again.

"You think I'm here to spy on you?" he said finally, and he bit back a chuckle as Reaver scowled. "Is that why you're so on edge?"

"I wouldn't put it like that," Reaver's smile was forced now. "_Suspicious,_ perhaps, but not on edge."

"Ah, of course." Garth took another sip of his water before deciding to have mercy on the man - not that he really deserved it. "No, Sparrow didn't send me. I arrived in Albion last night, and I've not yet seen him. I heard rumour that you and Hammer were here."

"And you thought to visit me first? I'm flattered." Garth didn't miss the mocking note in Reaver's voice.

"I didn't know where Hammer lived. Your house gives you away."

"Fair enough. But didn't you think to ask for directions?"

Garth had expected this, but that didn't make it any less annoying. He sighed heavily. "I don't like to draw attention to myself," he said firmly.

"Then you shouldn't have become a Will user, my dear fellow!" Reaver said, grinning, and Garth wanted to throttle him. If only Reaver never spoke; he was quite pleasant to look at. "Those pretty blue lines stand out. So do your clothes and your very ethnicity, come to think of it."

Garth ignored this comment. He'd seen Hammer riled up over Reaver's remarks, and preferred not to replicate her anger. She'd looked barbarous, and rather than cower in fear Reaver had laughed at her.

The moments ticked by as they sat in silence. Garth busied himself by reading the book titles on the shelves - not an easy feat for someone with only one eye - fully aware of Reaver's scrutinising gaze. He felt like the tables had been turned, as he was normally the one giving out that expression. It was like Reaver was reading his mind, or undressing him with his eyes, or something equally wanton that made the heat rise in Garth's face.

"Tell me," Reaver said finally, and Garth let out a silent sigh of relief. "Why did you come and see me, specifically? I know you have questions. And remember what curiosity killed."

Garth heeded the warning well, knowing how volatile Reaver could be. He was especially dangerous in that he hid his displeasure until the very last moment, and by then it didn't matter. Garth would choose his words carefully.

"I guessed that Sparrow asked you to do this job as a means to keep you in the public eye, to monitor your behaviour," he began. Reaver nodded, looking bored. "Knowing this, why did you agree to the job?"

Reaver relaxed slightly. Garth had no idea what Reaver had expected him to ask, but apparently his question had put the man at ease.

"Simple," Reaver chuckled. "Easy money."

"That's it?" Garth was genuinely surprised.

"That's it. Well…" Reaver suddenly looked thoughtful, as though he was debating how much to reveal to Garth. Finally he came to a conclusion. "I love a good challenge, and Oakfield was more dilapidated than Bloodstone had been." He laughed suddenly, a wicked, depraved sound that sent unexpected shivers down Garth's spine. "And Sparrow imposed all of these… restrictions on me, so finding a way to defy him was a challenge in and of itself."

"So why agree if you hated the regulations?" Garth asked. Reaver gave him an exasperated look.

"I just told you: easy money! Good god, man, clean out your ears! One can never have too much money!"

"You say easy money, and yet you were just declaring your love of a good challenge." Garth pointed out. Reaver paused and blinked at him, as though that contradiction had never occurred to him.

"Ah, the paradox of life," he said finally, his face taking on an absurdly dreamy expression. "You know, Sparrow felt guilty for not defending Oakfield from the Temple of Shadows, but he was locked away in the Spire when it happened. He mourned the loss of all those lives, so what did he do? He slaughtered every single member of the Temple of Shadows."

Garth nodded grimly. He knew all about _that _incident. They had just returned to Albion, and he had been with Theresa when it happened. It was the only time he had seen Theresa worried as she muttered hopelessly to herself about giving in to the darkness in one's heart. She had monitored Sparrow quite closely after that, and had seemed relieved when he didn't embark on anymore irate killing sprees. Garth certainly had been.

Silence dragged on again, until Reaver spoke. Garth realised the hush actually made Reaver uncomfortable. He was the one to break it every single time, after all.

"What are your plans now?"

Garth was surprised he had even asked. "To see Hammer and Sparrow. I honestly don't know after that. Perhaps I'll return to my Tower in Brightwood."

"I wouldn't count on it," Reaver scoffed, and Garth stared at him. "I hope you like Oakfield, because Sparrow will most definitely ask you to return here. I can't be trusted, after all." He sounded genuinely annoyed as he spoke the last statement, and though Garth couldn't really place why, he had a few theories.

"You're right," he sighed instead, preferring not to question it. "I had hoped I wouldn't have to buy a house anywhere."

"Then rent it from me," Reaver suggested, grinning.

"No."

"Then live with your Hammer friend. Actually…" Reaver paused again, looking thoughtful as he studied Garth. "Mage, are you familiar with the concept of keeping one's friends close, and one's enemies closer?"

"Of course I am," Garth replied carefully. He knew where this was heading, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.

"Live here," Reaver said firmly, confirming Garth's suspicions. "Free of charge."

"What's the catch?" Garth asked instantly.

"I'll know your every move," Reaver replied, smiling grimly. "Of course, you'll know mine too." He chuckled darkly, startling Garth. "It's like it's Sparrow and Hammer against me. Imagine the look on Sparrow's face if I'm able to bring _you _over to my side!"

"Another one of your 'challenges'?" Garth asked.

Reaver's smile grew. "Quite."

Garth cocked an eyebrow. The whole concept of 'sides' seemed rubbish to him. Still, he thought, perhaps he should stay. Reaver was a centuries old criminal, and was bound to be stuck in his ways, despite whatever promises he made to the contrary. Perhaps Garth could keep him on the right track, and stop him from killing so frivolously. The Thief had a sadistic disregard for human life.

"Why did you allow Hammer to rebuild the Temple?" he asked suddenly, as though it would help him reach his decision. Reaver gave him a sharp look.

"Are you joking?" he sounded reproachful. "I'm certainly not looking to get on the bad side of that _barbarian _anytime soon. She can do as she pleases."

"She's rough around the edges, but she's no barbarian," Garth replied curtly. He paused, wondering if his next question was actually a smart thing to ask.

"Are you scared of your fellow Heroes?" he asked finally. He prepared himself for Reaver's temper.

It wasn't as bad as he had expected. Reaver didn't even reach for his pistol. "I'm no coward," he spat. "But I'm not a fool, either. I've no interest in turning against myself the three people in the world strong enough to kill me."

"Shouldn't a gunshot from a civilian be enough?" Garth asked, genuinely curious.

"Maybe so. But I would hear them coming." Reaver lifted his chin proudly. "Should we continue discussing the possibility of my execution?" he asked abruptly.

"Tempting, but no," Garth replied, and he couldn't bite back his chuckle as Reaver scowled. The King of Thieves, Hero of Skill, was pouting like a toddler that didn't get its own way. "And thank you. I will stay." He could easily leave when he grew tired of the arrangement, after all.

"Excellent," Reaver looked satisfied. "I'll have the maid prepare your room, away from mine so I don't keep you up at night." His smile turned wicked, and once again Garth felt the heat rush to his face. "Make yourself at home."

"This doesn't mean we're friends," Garth said suddenly. After all the double-crossing Reaver had done, it seemed like an important point to make. Garth still did _not _like the man, and he refused to acknowledge that this little session had warmed him up to the Thief.

"Of course not. I've already told you my reasons for making the offer," Reaver said flatly. "Oh, and also I have a thing for accents." He leaned forward in his seat, his smile now utterly debauched. "Yours has thickened, you know."

This time, Garth couldn't stop himself from blushing heatedly. Reaver had _no _boundaries.


	2. Thoughts and Ideas

By the next morning, gossip of Garth's arrival had spread through Oakfield like wildfire. Reaver was right - nothing about Garth was inconspicuous. And unfortunately for Garth, Hammer was quick to hear about it.

Garth had just walked outside when he saw Hammer storming up the hill towards the house. He felt like he was standing on a beach, watching a tidal wave rush towards him.

The front door closed behind him, and he guessed that Reaver had followed him outside. Sure enough, Reaver was at his side moments later, watching Hammer blankly.

"Brace yourself, Mage," he said.

"_You!_" Hammer roared, and Garth swore he felt the very earth shake. "How _could _you? Going to _him_ instead of me! What's _wrong_ with you?"

"Perhaps he likes his hearing intact," Reaver suggested, his hands over his ears pointedly.

"You shut your face!" Hammer shot at him, before turning back to Garth. Garth chose to remain silent.

"You honestly preferred to see this piece of work over me? Seriously?"

"Hammer, enough," Garth said firmly. He could feel a headache coming on. "I didn't know where you lived. Reaver's house gave him away. That's all there is to it."

Well, he still had to tell her that he was now _staying _with Reaver, but that could come later.

"Oh, I'm sure!" Hammer snapped. Garth couldn't believe how angry she was - but then, she did hate Reaver. "He did something to you, didn't he?" She rounded on Reaver. "What did you do?"

Reaver was watching the scene with an unworried smile. "Am I allowed to talk now?" he asked lightly. "Well, dear, for starters I didn't screech his ear off. I think he appreciated that. Rather thoughtful of me, wouldn't you say?"

Garth held back a sigh. Reaver knew exactly what to say in order to inflame a situation. Hammer stared at him furiously, her mouth opening and closing several times as she struggled to find something to say. Finally she gave up and turned back to Garth.

Garth held his hands out in front of him. "What do you want me to say? Honestly, Hammer, I wasn't my intention to offend you. It was a matter of convenience."

"Is it so hard to ask for directions? Really?" Hammer sighed exasperatedly, but Garth was glad to see that some of her anger had drained away. "And honestly, you Will users - why don't you ever age? Sparrow looks the same as ever, and here you are, looking like you're in your thirties! You must be at least a hundred years old!"

Reaver roared with laughter as Garth choked.

"I'm not even fifty!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"49, then." Hammer shrugged.

"We're done here!" Garth said firmly. He turned on his heel to storm back into the house. Of all the cheek…!

"No, no, don't be done!" Reaver called after him quickly. "This was just getting good! No finish-ies!"

"Fine, I'm due up at the Temple anyway!" Hammer said. "I don't like either of you! Reaver - if you don't shut up, I'll bash you in the face and disfigure you forever!"

Garth looked over his shoulder just in time to see Reaver's horrified expression, and Hammer storming away as quickly as she had come.

"What just happened?" he asked.

"She just threatened to disfigure me, that's what!" Reaver exclaimed. "If she even _touches _me, I'll shoot her in the face!"

Garth simply shook his head, preferring not to voice his opinion on the matter. He thought it inappropriate to admit that disfiguring Reaver would be a crime against nature, after all.

**

Reaver had been called to a meeting with the town's council. Judging by Reaver's scowl when he received the summon, he didn't enjoy these meetings one bit. Garth hoped that no one would end up shot.

He took this chance to inspect Reaver's book collection. It was huge, and Reaver had even mentioned the previous night that he had even more books in the cellar. There were fiction and non-fiction, and Garth was thrilled to discover that some were older than Reaver himself. There were titles from Albion, nearby countries such as Eire, and a couple of newer ones that Reaver had obtained in Samarkand. An ample amount of them were even in a language that Garth couldn't identify, and he was mildly impressed - he hadn't known Reaver was bilingual.

After spending some time thumbing through the volumes, Garth paused when he found his childhood favourite - _The Hero of Oakvale_. He smiled, remembering how often he had read it when he had nothing else to do in his gypsy camp home. He skimmed over the blurb.

…_there are many conflicting reports regarding the Hero's life and his feats…_

Garth remembered how much that had annoyed him as a child. He had once asked his older brother why the people hadn't written the Hero's deeds down at the time. His brother had replied carelessly that they wanted to spite Garth.

Garth looked at the book thoughtfully. Perhaps he should write about the Four Heroes, to prevent any speculation about them in the future? He was a scholar, after all. He would need the others to cooperate, and he had his doubts particularly about Reaver with that. Perhaps he could intersperse the facts with his own thoughts and experiences - that would be one way to get past any hindrances.

It would be difficult, and - he sighed - his Old Kingdom studies would probably have to wait. But he was certainly up for it.

"Are you having fun?"

Garth started and spun around. Reaver was sitting in the same chair as last night, goblet in hand, his eyes fixed on Garth.

Garth could smell the drink. Wine. He wrinkled his nose. Oh, how he abhorred the stuff. It was addictive, turned men into monsters, and if he had his way, no one would ever touch the stuff. He had barely been able to tolerate Hammer's love of the stuff when they were working together, and now he was living with Reaver, the very epitome of indulgence…

"Reaver, I have a favour to ask." The words had left his mouth before his mind had a chance to catch up.

Reaver raised an eyebrow at him and lounged back in his chair. It was remarkable how elegant he could much a normally boorish move look. "Do tell." he said simply.

Garth hesitated for a moment. Hopefully Reaver wouldn't be offended.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't drink around me," he said finally.

Reaver's bored expression turned into curiosity. "You must have the nose of a dog!" he said, glancing down at his goblet. "Why do you ask that?"

Garth cleared his throat. It suddenly felt very dry. "I have bad experiences with alcohol," he said simply, hoping that would be the end of it.

It wasn't, of course. Reaver regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, his face unreadable.

"Take off your monocle."

The request was so unexpected that Garth had to do a double take. "Pardon?"

"I said, take off your monocle," Reaver repeated, sounding impatient. "I've never seen you without it."

Garth felt the blood drain from his face as he shook his head.

"Come now. Do this once, and I'll give you my answer." Reaver watched him closely.

Garth hated exposing his ruined eye. He felt naked without his monocle, even if his body was clothed. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he removed the monocle with shaking hands.

Reaver considered him for a long time. Garth returned the gaze, itching to cover his sightless eye back up.

"Stop being a prick," he said finally, unable to stop himself.

Reaver didn't even flinch. "Is that a result of one of these 'bad experiences'?" he asked emotionlessly.

Garth cursed him for being so clever. "Yes." he said tersely.

"I see. You've piqued my curiosity now." Reaver smirked, and Garth's despair must have shown on his face, because he was quick to add, "Don't worry, my dear Mage, I'll not ask anymore questions today." He nodded to the monocle dangling from Garth's hand. "Put it back on. I won't drink around you anymore." There was a small table sporting a pot plant next to his chair. He emptied his drink into it without a second thought.

Garth breathed a sigh of relief and began to replace his monocle.

"Actually, I do have one more question."

Garth froze again.

"Does it have an eyelid?" Reaver grinned, and Garth snorted with laughter at the unexpected question.

"Only _you _would think to ask that, pirate!" he said, relieved.

"I _am _rather brilliant, aren't I."

Garth snapped the clasp together at the back of his head, adjusted the opaque glass over his eye, and nodded. "Yes. It still has an eyelid."

"Very intriguing. And I'm not a pirate anymore. That hobby grew tiresome after 150 years. I'm trying something new." Reaver said flippantly. Garth stared at him.

"So obeying the law is a hobby for you now?"

"More or less, yes. But I _am _still the King of Thieves; after all, how many thieves do you know of that steal _youth_?"

Garth shook his head, preferring not to think about it. He replaced _The Hero of Oakvale _back in its place on the shelf. He paused then, surprised to find that he actually felt better, now that Reaver had asked that ridiculous question. Surely Reaver didn't…

He looked back at his host. "Thank you," he said sincerely. Reaver waved him away.

"I prefer to get drunk alone anyway. I'm less likely to make a fool of myself that way."

Garth hadn't been referring to that, but he said no more. He turned back to the bookshelves, but he couldn't concentrate. Reaver was watching him.

"Don't mind me, Mage." Reaver said lightly, sensing Garth's discomfort. "I'm simply enjoying the view."

Garth gaped at him for a moment before turning away, his face heating up dramatically. This was the second time in 24 hours that Reaver had managed to make him blush, when he hadn't blushed in over ten years. In fact, the last time had been when he was still friendly with Lucien…

He didn't want to think about that. "What language are these books in?" he asked Reaver, to distract himself.

Reaver blinked. "Aragonian," he replied. "I'm surprised you couldn't pick it. Aren't you meant to be a scholar?"

"I'm not a linguistics expert," Garth replied flatly, not appreciating his belittlement. "Are you fluent?"

Reaver nodded. "My father was from Aragonia." he said, and suddenly it all made sense to Garth. Aragonians were supposedly the most beautiful people in the world, so it was no wonder Reaver was this attractive… and vain.

"A civil war broke out in Aragonia," Reaver continued lightly. "A group of people fled the country and came here, my father among them." He paused thoughtfully. "You know, I think that woman Sparrow married has Aragonian blood in her. I can see traces of it in her looks."

Garth shrugged. He had never met the woman - Alex, if he recalled correctly - so he couldn't make a judgment on that.

"Surely you speak some sort of Samarkand gibberish?" Reaver asked him.

Garth frowned and shook his head. "My family moved to Albion when I was three," he explained. "I've long forgotten most of my mother tongue." He could remember a few key words and a handful of profanities (mostly because his father had used them so often), but that was it. He certainly wouldn't be able to read a book in the language.

"That's a pity," Reaver said airily, picking up the book he'd been reading last night from the coffee table. "And here I assumed you'd value having that sort of knowledge."

Garth was getting annoyed. "It couldn't be helped," he said, forcing himself to remain calm. "It's too late to learn it now. My family is dead, and I know only that my tribe is in the west of Samarkand."

"Unfortunate," Reaver remarked, in that same airy voice. Garth was past annoyance at his condescension; it was downright giving him the shits. He wanted to tell Reaver to pull his head out of his backside, but knew that wouldn't accomplish anything.

"I'm going to visit Hammer," he announced instead, and with that he left the stupid Thief to his stupid book.

**

The Temple of Light was enormous. The buildings had been removed and replaced with an open, grassy courtyard. A low wall ran around the outside so that no one would fall off the side of the mountain, and whitewashed pillars marked the courtyard's corners. Plants grew against the walls and vines twisted up the pillars. In the centre of the courtyard was a small crystalline pool, a little fountain in its centre. At the far end of the courtyard was a statue of a peaceful-looking man, probably the founder of the Temple. Another larger pool was off to the far right; it probably fed the stream that ran beyond the Temple, and the entrance was simply a whitewashed archway with flowering vines growing slowly upwards.

All of this accomplished in such a short amount of time. As much as he disliked religion, Garth couldn't help but admire the simple beauty of the place.

Hammer was off to the left, supervising a small group of young monks as they practiced hand-to-hand combat techniques that Garth didn't really care for. When Hammer spotted him, she called an end to the session and hurried over to him, her pupils watching her curiously.

"Finally visiting me, are you?" she asked, by way of greeting.

"Enough, Hammer," Garth growled. His nerves were already thin on account of Reaver.

Hammer blinked. "All right, I meant nothing by it, really! Come and sit down so we can chat!" She led him to the larger pool and hauled herself up onto the wall, her back against the pillar there. Garth chose to simply sit beside the water.

He looked up at her. Now that she wasn't yelling at him irrationally, he had a chance to really absorb her. She had aged beautifully, probably because of her active lifestyle. She had lost weight, and gained more muscle - if she hadn't been able to snap Garth in two with her bare hands before, she almost certainly could now. Her hair was lighter and her skin tanned; she spent a lot of time in the sun, Garth guessed. She was wearing a similar outfit to the rest of the monks, except she had skipped the waist cord and the gloves. She pulled her gigantic weapon from its sling on her back with ease and dropped it at her feet.

Garth noticed that some monks were wearing the old robes - they were probably older, and otherwise unfit for training. He smiled. Hammer had done a brilliant job.

"Can you just _imagine _my surprise when I heard that you'd gone to Reaver's place? Well, they didn't say it was you, but I guessed from the description," Hammer was saying. Garth had forgotten how chatty she could be. "You even spent the night there! You can guess what the people are saying, right? They reckon you're his new lover-" Garth choked at this "-and some of them are real jealous, let me tell you." She looked at Garth sharply. "He really didn't try anything funny, did he?" she asked.

Garth was able to keep the blush off his face this time. "He's made a few lewd comments, but it's nothing out of the ordinary for him," he said nonchalantly. He took a breath. Hammer's reaction was not going to be pretty. "I'm living with him now." he said.

It took Hammer a long moment to react. When she finally did, her yell echoed around the Temple, startling everyone there.

"_What?_"

"Calm yourself," Garth groaned.

"Like hell! What's wrong with you? You know what he's like!" Hammer sounded angrier than she had that morning. "He could shoot you in the face for even daring to live in his house!"

"It was his idea," Garth said simply. Hammer looked at him suspiciously.

"He's done something to you, hasn't he. Admit it."

"He hasn't," Garth groaned. He disliked badmouthing someone when they weren't around to defend themselves. It didn't sit right with him. "It's fine, Hammer. I can keep an eye on him this way."

"Oh yeah, good point!" Hammer's tone changed so fast that Garth thought he might have whiplash. "Did Sparrow ask you to come here too, then? He asked me, and I didn't know what I could do when I got here, but Reaver suggested I should reinstate the Temple of Light, though I think he just wanted me out of his face-"

"I haven't seen Sparrow yet," Garth said, interrupting her rant. Hammer blinked.

"Huh? Why was Reaver the first one you saw?" she glared at him. "You're not telling me something! Are you on his side?"

Garth had to take a deep breath to keep himself from Fireballing her into Oblivion. He spoke slowly, mostly to belittle her.

"I told you, it was a matter of convenience. I wrote to Sparrow last night, and sent it off this morning. That you and Sparrow are against Reaver when you should be helping each other out is ridiculous."

"If it's so ridiculous, then why are you still staying with him?" Hammer challenged. Garth wanted to bash his head against the wall.

"To keep an eye on him! Do you need me to repeat myself another twenty times?" he spat. Hammer scowled and didn't reply.

They sat in silence after that. Garth suspected Hammer still didn't trust him because of his affiliation with Lucien, and that this was just an excuse to voice that distrust. Garth hoped that Sparrow would be more understanding.

He watched a small group of monks gather by the archway. He could hear them talking - they were planning on having a race around Oakfield. They stretched their muscles and planned their course, and it was only when they had taken off that Hammer spoke again.

"No more pacifism for this Temple," she said. "If Oakfield is ever attacked again, you can be damn sure we'll be fit and ready to fight back!"

"You teach what you learnt with the warrior monks, I assume," Garth said.

Hammer nodded. "Oh, they were brilliant, Garth, but I needed to come home." she admitted. "And I was so happy when Reaver suggested I fix the Temple to my liking. Sparrow may rule Albion, but this town is now Reaver's." She looked down at the town. "He's done all this in two years, and he still isn't finished. I heard the council isn't happy with some of his plans, though."

Garth cocked an eyebrow. No wonder Reaver had been so dirty when he was called to the meeting this morning. "Such as?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Hammer shrugged. "I know he wants to put a port in, a little way down the beach. It would increase tourism and trade. The old farts on the council reckon it'll cost too much money." she scowled. "He's also made it compulsory for all kids to go to school - for free too. They don't like that either."

"Free?" Garth echoed. That didn't sound like Reaver.

"He seriously has a thing for education," Hammer said, shrugging again. "Like, he told me a few months ago that all of his crew had to be able to read and write competently before they could join. He also said that he'd never have sex with anyone stupid, which is why I thought he might have tried something with you," she grinned, and Garth turned his face away to keep himself from blushing. "Gender doesn't matter to him, but brains do. Anyway, most people around here are still getting back on their feet, so they wouldn't be able to afford sending their kids off to school. I guess there are some things Reaver values more than money. There's nothing he values more than himself though - he's a selfish dick." She laughed.

Garth didn't tell her that Reaver had tried to cheer him up earlier. She would twist the story against Reaver, and though Garth couldn't blame her for it, he didn't want to hear it. He had also decided that he wanted to keep that little memory for himself, at least for now. How many people could claim that Reaver had been needlessly nice to them?

Instead, Garth changed the subject, telling Hammer about his idea of writing about the four Heroes. Hammer listened intently.

"Sounds good to me!" she said when he'd finished, and he breathed a sigh of relief - he had been seeking her permission, after all. "I reckon Sparrow will get behind it too, though you'll probably have to give him some time to answer the harder questions." Garth nodded. "Dunno about Reaver though," she added.

Garth shrugged. He would wait and see.

"Ah, there you are."

Garth looked over his shoulder. Reaver had just walked through the archway and was now approaching Garth and ignoring Hammer entirely. He flopped down beside Garth - another gesture that only he could make completely graceful.

"I thought you might have gotten lost," he said, smirking. Garth shook his head.

"This Temple is on a mountain that looms over Oakfield. I would have to be very stupid or completely blind to get lost here."

"It could happen, I suppose," Reaver replied. He looked at Garth closely. "Are you still pissy?" he asked suddenly.

Garth blinked. "Well, no." he said. "But you should watch yourself. It isn't wise to anger someone who can electrocute you."

Reaver laughed. "Pity, because you are so _entertaining _when you're cranky!" he said. "But then you stormed off and ruined all my fun! What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _you_?" Hammer interrupted before Garth could reply. "It isn't funny to stir people up, you know."

Reaver looked up at her blankly. "Yes, it is." he said flatly.

"No, it's not! Good god, do you know how much more likable you would be if you be if you just considered others for a moment?"

"Oh please, do tell me. I'm dying to know."

"You rotten sod, you don't care! I should crush your little gun, and your pistol too!"

At that, Reaver roared with laughter. "Darling, I assure you, if you were to crush my 'gun' as you say, it certainly wouldn't be a small job!"

Hammer stared at him and Garth turned away, hiding his laughter.

"Ah, you _do _have an off-switch! Mage, remember that one."

"He has a name."

"Does he? I just assumed he was called Mage."

Garth couldn't bite back his chuckles now, though he couldn't help but notice how Hammer was usually the one to pick a fight with Reaver. He would have to tell her privately that it wasn't a good look, and it certainly didn't make Garth want to 'side' with her.

He wanted to give Reaver the benefit of the doubt for a while longer. He hadn't actually broken the law yet, after all, and most of the time he was quite pleasant to be around. And anyway, everyone had their reasons for being the way they were, and Reaver was over two centuries old; he had a hell of a story to tell.

Garth glanced sidelong at him and hid his smile.


	3. Expectations

Garth was having such a pleasant dream. He was in Samarkand with his two brothers. It was hot, and they were playing in their village's spring, splashing and dunking and laughing at each other until a decidedly un-Samarkand-like voice cut into their fun.

"Mage, you have a visitor."

"_Fuck off_," Garth said in his native language. His father used it so often, so it must be okay to say…

"Get up!"

Something struck the side of the bed hard, and Garth sat up so quickly that his head spun. He flopped back against the pillows and blinked. Reaver was beside his bed, his shoulders shaking as he laughed quietly.

"What'd you throw?" Garth asked groggily. He was definitely not a morning person.

"Nothing, I simply kicked." Reaver was chuckling now. "Our little Sparrow-friend is outside; he has your belongings that he stole from your Tower in Brightwood. They'll have to go in the cellar. Now get up, or I'll have his men bring everything up here. I want that little bird to fly away as soon as possible."

"All right, I'm getting up," Garth grumbled. He sat up, the bed sheets falling from his torso and pooling at his hips. He waited, but when Reaver didn't move, he sighed. "This is the part where you _leave._" he said pointedly.

"Oh, really? What's the matter?" Reaver looked at him, the smile on his face slowly growing - not a good sign. His eyes blatantly scanned Garth's bare torso.

Garth felt his face heat up at the attention. "Just leave, Reaver," he growled.

"Do you sleep _naked, _Mage?" Reaver asked mischievously.

"No," Garth replied, and it was true - he wore pants to bed. "Just get out."

"How far down do those blue lines go, I wonder?" Reaver asked - and he licked his lips in the most obscene way.

"_Out, Reaver!_" Garth lobbed a weak Fireball at him angrily, sure that his face was bright red. Reaver ducked the attack easily and practically _skipped _out of the room, laughing all the way to the foyer.

Garth groaned and massaged his temples, feeling a headache coming on. Couldn't that rotten sex fiend at least give him his space in _one _room? Garth wondered if he should have a lock fitted into his bedroom door. Damn Reaver and his arrogance, his nymphomania, his charisma, his charm, and the way he made Garth's heart skip a beat every time he grinned.

This was not a good way to start the day.

He finally managed to change and went downstairs. There was an entourage of carriages in the front yard, getting unloaded by a dozen or so men at whom Reaver was barking orders. Sparrow was sitting on the roof of one of these carriages and, just as Hammer had said, he didn't look a day older than he did five years ago. Though he was easily the richest man in Albion, he was still a gypsy at heart. His long blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, with random sections of it twisted into small, tight braids sealed with different coloured beads. His necklace and belt were made up of different assortment of trinkets, and Sparrow had once said that each trinket had a story. While Garth hadn't asked him to elaborate, it didn't take a genius to guess the story behind the one at the end of the necklace - it was a tiny, carved rose.

His dog sat beside him on the carriage roof. Garth struggled to recall its name. Sparrow had named the poor mutt something ridiculous in his youth, back when he still had some semblance of a sense of humour left in him.

"Sparrow," Garth greeted warmly. "It's good to see you."

Sparrow nodded in reply, the corners of his lips tweaking into a smile. His dog jumped down and bounded over to Garth, snuffling at him as if to demand a pat.

Garth chuckled. "And how are you?" he asked, scratching the dog behind his ears. "You must be getting on in years now." The dog barked. "Still as lively as ever though, I see."

The dog stood up on its hind legs and barked again. Sparrow's smile widened slightly.

"Break anything and I'll put a bullet through your sorry face!" Reaver snapped at the men, his head raised high as he personified authority. Garth cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Do you really think threatening them is the best way to motivate them?" he asked.

"You're right," Reaver regarded him thoughtfully. "Perhaps I need to shoot one for them to see I'm serious."

"Don't kill my men," Sparrow said suddenly, fixing Reaver with a dangerous look. Garth blinked at him - it was always startling to hear Sparrow speak. His voice was deep, and his once strong lower-class accent had thinned, probably because he spent most of his time in Fairfax Gardens these days, where the Albion nobility gathered. His voice now had a posh lilt.

"Have it your way," Reaver chuckled and followed two of the men inside.

"I don't like being around him," Sparrow said quietly, his blue eyes fixed on the front door.

"An odd way of putting it," Garth pointed out, intrigued by his wording. Sparrow shrugged.

"I don't like _him_, either, but I'd be able to put up with him if everything he did wasn't so…" he struggled to find a suitable word. "Practiced."

Garth frowned. Sparrow had noticed it too, then. Reaver's every mannerism, his every emotion was practiced to perfection, and his words were so closely monitored that Garth was able to sense the uneasiness that lay beneath his surface. He wondered if Reaver had to force himself to appear relaxed at times, and why he felt he had to build up a wall around himself like that.

"My oldest son fancies him," Sparrow said suddenly, and Garth nearly choked.

"How old is he?" he asked.

"Seventeen. Old enough to know better, like my daughter." Sparrow sighed, though an amused smile played on his lips.

"And your daughter?" Garth asked.

"Eighteen."

Garth had guessed right - they were the two children that Lucien had murdered. He recalled there was another one, but that child had only been a toddler at the time, and probably didn't remember the attack on its home. Garth felt a pang of sympathy for the other two.

"You have another child, if I recall."

"Yes. A six year old son," Sparrow's smile was glowing now; he clearly adored his children. "And I also have a three year old girl."

Garth shook his head in amazement. He wasn't fond of children, and he couldn't imagine having to put up with that many on a daily basis. "You've been busy," he said. Sparrow chuckled, though, as always, there was an emptiness to it.

"Sparrow!" Reaver appeared in the front doorway again, looking indignant. "You should teach your men the importance of interior decorating! You can't just put any old thing anywhere! And Mage-" Garth cocked an eyebrow. "-why do you have such a dingy old bed?"

"It's an Old Kingdom artefact," Garth said quickly. He had forgotten about that nightmarish thing.

"Oh. So I probably shouldn't sleep in it, then?" Reaver's grin was impish.

"Not if you want to live, no."

"Pity. I do love spending the night in decrepit, painful excuses for beds, after all."

"Your sarcasm is masterfully hidden," Garth said dryly.

"As is yours, my dear Mage." Reaver winked at him and went back inside. Garth chuckled.

"Garth, be careful."

Sparrow was looking at him solemnly now. Garth stared back and didn't reply.

"He's taken a shine to you," Sparrow elaborated quietly. "But that don't- doesn't mean anything." He corrected his speech halfway through, Garth noted - those snobbish Garden dwellers were influencing him. "You're a toy to him, in that when he gets sick of you, he'll kill you. It's what he does."

Despite knowing that Sparrow was only concerned for his wellbeing, Garth felt a pang of irritation. "I can take care of myself, Sparrow." he said tersely.

"I've seen him kill people because they haven't painted him right, or sculpted him, or-" Sparrow paused then, and cleared his throat. His voice shook when he next spoke. "Or because a picture of him would take three months to develop. You're a brilliant man, Garth, but sometimes you let your morals cloud your judgement."

"Sparrow-" Garth began, his irritation growing. But Sparrow cut him off.

"He's nothing short of a devil. Has been from the moment he gained immortality." Sparrow gave him a sharp look. "That won't change just because you like him."

He had spoken so coldly that Garth decided not to reply, lest an angry response inflame the situation further. They remained in silence for the time it took the men to finish unloading Garth's old studies. Sparrow lazily tossed a rubber ball for his dog to fetch, and Garth still couldn't recall the wretched thing's name. Finally, Reaver emerged and announced that they had finished.

"Did you have fun?" Garth asked.

"Oh yes, it was like captaining my ship again!" Reaver said, enthused. "Only without the water, the ship… the profanities…" he chuckled darkly. "You should use the cellar as your little study now, seeing as everything is in there. What do you think of that?"

Garth couldn't keep the grin from his face. "Thank you," he said, elated. Reaver laughed and shrugged.

"Modesty doesn't suit you." Sparrow, who had previously been watching them silently, was now eyeing Reaver with a strange look.

"And bitterness doesn't suit you," Reaver replied pleasantly. "Really, Sparrow, you're a handsome man, you should try to smile more. Smile and be happy and skip through the meadows, or whatever it is that happy people are wont to do."

"You confuse happy with insane," Sparrow said flatly. He leapt down off the carriage roof, and his dog - what was the blasted thing's name?! - barked excitedly. Sparrow allowed himself to smile. "Yes, boy, we're going to see Hammer," he said. The dog barked again.

"Wait!" Garth said quickly. "While you're here, I need both your permission for something…" He explained his book idea to them both, as he had with Hammer. Sparrow listened thoughtfully, but Reaver's face was unreadable.

"All right," Sparrow said when he had finished. "But you'll have to give me some time to prepare myself up here-" he tapped his head pointedly "-to talk about some things." Garth nodded in understanding.

"My permission, you have." Reaver said, that strange look still on his face. "But my cooperation is another matter." He turned away. "I like my secrets, Mage, and though I welcome you to try your hand at discovering them, I promise it won't be fun for you, in any case."

"You are a prick," Sparrow said, though curiously his insult didn't hold its usual bite. He looked at Garth. "One final thing: burn that bed. It's evil."

"Did you use it?" Garth gasped. "You foolish man, I left a letter explaining to anyone who read it that it was dangerous!"

"If anything, that was my incentive." Sparrow smiled grimly. "I'm like a moth to a flame, it seems. Would you like to visit Hammer with me?"

Garth shook his head. He had long suspected that Sparrow and Hammer's friendship may have been something more, had Sparrow not married just before they met. There was always a strange sense of longing between the two, so strong that it made Garth uncomfortable whenever he was in their company.

"Suit yourself," Sparrow said simply. He told his men to take the carriages to the Sandgoose and wait for him there, and with that, he left.

"Mm, Sparrow, I don't mind watching you walk away at _all!_" Reaver called after him, a mischievous grin on his face.

Sparrow flipped him off, and his dog growled, and just like that Garth remembered its name.

"He does have a nice arse," Reaver said to Garth lightly.

"It's Woof!" Garth exclaimed triumphantly, not paying Reaver any attention.

Reaver stared at him blankly. "No, it's an arse," he said slowly, and Garth didn't bother to explain himself.

**

Reaver had arranged the cellar neatly, as though it were any other room. Garth had worried that it would be cramped, but everything had fit in quite nicely. There were still a couple of crates of books and other equipment that the men hadn't bothered to unpack, and for that Garth was grateful - he disliked his equipment being touched without his close supervision.

Reaver was at the foot of the stairs, watching Garth run around with an amused look. "You're an odd man," he said bluntly.

"Pot, meet the two hundred year old kettle," Garth replied simply, as he went through the drawers in his desk. Everything was still there, he was delighted to discover.

Reaver chuckled. "Touché," he said.

Garth stopped in front of a floor-length mirror that was against the wall. Though he hadn't seen most of this stuff in well over ten years, he couldn't recall ever having any sort of mirror. He looked at Reaver questioningly.

Reaver shrugged. "I had nowhere else to put it." he said. "Mage, about your silly book-"

"It's not silly," Garth interrupted, affronted that Reaver would think such a thing when he apparently valued knowledge highly.

"I didn't say it was."

"You did just a second ago!"

"Regardless," Reaver cleared his throat pointedly - time to move on. "I'll cooperate with you, but only if don't ask questions concerning the time before I became a pirate. Understood?"

Garth stared at him blankly. "Why?" he asked.

"I told you, I like my secrets." Reaver shrugged and turned away. Garth hurried over to him before he left.

"But it seems odd to me that that entire period of your life is off-limits, and that you'll speak candidly of the rest," he said. "You must have been what, thirty when you became a pirate?"

Reaver cleared his throat again. "37," he said. "That's when I became immortal, and it's when I turned to piracy too. That's where my story will begin."

"So you can ask me about a personal matter-" Garth pointed to his monocle "-but I can't ask you about yours?"

"That was one incident," Reaver spat, his temper flaring. "You're asking me to recall things that didn't even happen to _me._ I was born when my body became immortal."

Garth stared at him in shock. There were a number of reasons a person changed their identity, and all of them had to do with distancing themselves from the person that had once been, for whatever reason.

"What did you do?" he asked quietly.

The next moment the wind was knocked out of him as he was slammed up against the stone wall. Reaver had pinned him there by his throat, pistol to his temple, and for a split second Garth swore he was looking at his father. He gasped for breath as his mind struggled to catch up.

"Last warning, Mage," Reaver growled, and Garth had only seen that murderous glint in his eyes once before - when they had been facing Lucien, after he had transported them to the Spire.

"Get off me," Garth choked out, and he threw Reaver back with a Force Push spell. He summoned his protective Blades just in time for Reaver to fire a shot at him.

"Enough!" he growled, and Reaver climbed to his feet, watching him savagely. "I don't take kindly to being attacked, Thief!"

"I warned you," Reaver growled darkly, though he tucked his pistol back in its holster - he must have realised he couldn't shoot through Garth's Blades. He snarled when Garth didn't dismiss the Blades.

"I don't trust you," Garth growled, shaken to his core. "Though I suppose I should thank you for being kind enough to warn me, as opposed to simply shooting me like you would with anyone else unfortunate enough to get on your nerves."

Reaver stared at him a moment longer, and odd mix of fury and dejection on his face. Then he turned on his heel and stormed back upstairs, slamming the cellar door behind him.

Garth slid down the wall onto the floor miserably, still trying to catch his breath. He knew he should have stayed in bed this morning.

**

The excitement he'd felt at having his old equipment back had waned quickly. Though he'd tried to check and catalogue everything, his mind kept dwelling on that infuriating prick of a man with whom he had the misfortune of sharing a house. Finally, he gave up and decided to go for a walk, knowing that unless the house was robbed by a criminal with a particular interest in the Old Kingdom, his things would be there when he returned.

Spring was still a little way off, and so he figured the coastline would be all but deserted. He received a couple of curious stares from a group of builders who were putting the finishing touches on a house, but he ignored them easily.

He had no idea where Reaver had gone. He hoped that some poor sod hadn't lost their life just because he'd pissed Reaver off. Garth sighed.

Deciding he didn't want to walk onto the beach, he trudged up the hill and stopped on the small cliff that hung over the water. He leaned against the tree there and looked out across the ocean. The Spire loomed ominously in the distance, a constant reminder of his long imprisonment, and Lucien. In his darker, most desperate moments, he had considered rejoining Lucien's cause, throwing himself at the madman's feet and begging for forgiveness and freedom, but he had held out. Perhaps he would have done anything to get out of that tiny cell, but Sparrow's presence helped him cling to his sanity, helped him remember that it was Lucien in the wrong, not he. And so he'd waited, gathered his Will, and cursed Lucien's existence.

He shuddered involuntarily. Had he been given a wish in the Spire, he would have had his memory of Lucien erased. Instead, the man haunted his nightmares.

Reaver crept back into his mind, and he chuckled humourlessly. He was predisposed to keeping unhealthy company, it seemed.

Voices, getting louder - he glanced over his shoulder and froze. Reaver was accompanying a small group of men as they walked down the path towards the beach. Judging from Reaver's bored expression, and the way they tried to make themselves look as important as possible, these men were part of the town council. One of the men pointed down the coastline, and Reaver nodded. Then he looked up the hill, and stopped when he saw Garth. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Leave." Reaver ordered the men.

"Sir, we've not finished discussing the port," one of the men protested.

"Now," Reaver said firmly.

"Sir, we insist, this will only take a few minutes-" the official changed his tone when Reaver drew his pistol. "Oh, you meant _now?_ Of course, my mistake." And with that, he and the other officials left so quickly that it made Garth wonder if Reaver _had _actually shot one of them before.

Garth briefly considered summoning his Blades again, but thought better of it when Reaver tucked his pistol away again. Reaver walked up the grassy hill leisurely, his face unreadable as he stood next to Garth.

"What _are _you looking at?" His voice was demanding and his eyes were trained on the horizon. Garth snorted.

"Take a guess."

"That old thing?" Reaver scoffed. "That whole thing was rather anticlimactic, wouldn't you agree? I'll not deny it hurt like hell, but from the way that blind woman was banging on I expected an epic battle of some sort."

"You should be thankful that was the extent of your experience there," Garth muttered. "Sparrow and I spent ten years in that thing."

"So I hear. Though I understand Sparrow had it considerably easier than you."

"Not so. We suffered equally, though in different ways."

"How noble of you to say," Reaver said lightly, a wry smile on his face now. "I'm sure Sparrow feels validated now that you've claimed that."

"It's nothing to do with validation," Garth snapped. How the hell had no one shot this arrogant man yet? He was quick on the draw, of course, but that didn't mean he couldn't be taken by surprise…

Reaver cleared his throat. Garth was pulled from his thoughts. Reaver was holding out a small piece of oddly coloured rock, and looking at Garth impatiently.

"What is that?" Garth asked. It looked familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"A piece of that evil floaty rock that attacked us," Reaver said simply. "I picked it up when you zapped it into a thousand pieces. I must thank you for that, by the way, I've always loved a good dodging game, especially when the thing I'm dodging could shred me into pieces-"

Garth all but snatched it from his hand, ignoring his rant. "This is a piece of the crystal orb itself," he said in disbelief. Reaver shrugged.

"Every other piece that almost hit me was a sort of dull greyish-black colour. Naturally, that piece caught my eye." He paused, and then chuckled. "I suppose you could say it's a shard of a Shard."

"Yes, you could." Garth replied distantly. He rolled the stone in his palms. It was a foggy cream colour with odd, raised veins criss-crossing it. He had never had a chance to examine Lucien's Shards - their partnership ended long before Lucien gained power over them. "It's been cut directly from the Spire, and infused with Will." It felt warm in his hands.

"You think so?" Reaver replied, mildly interested. "It's a shard of a shard of a shard then. Or something." He shook his head when Garth tried to hand it back. "You touched it last, it's yours. I don't want it anymore. I keep it in my pocket, and it digs into my leg. Anyone who didn't know any better would think I'm simply pleased to see them."

Garth stared at him blankly. Reaver shrugged.

"You take it or I use it as target practice. It's up to you."

Garth stared for a moment longer before pocketing the shard. "All right."

Without another word, Reaver turned on his heel and walked back the way he came.

"I honestly thought you were younger than thirty," Garth called after him, unable to stop himself.

Reaver paused and glanced back at him.

"Physically, I mean." Garth clarified quickly.

Reaver regarded him thoughtfully. "I try, Mage." he said simply, and Garth grinned when he began to laugh.


	4. Dreams and Drunken Adventures

Garth felt sick, his body ached and his head swam. The Commandant's attack had been powerful, had broken through his Blades and forced him to his knees. Sometime during his transportation by the Shard, he had passed out.

He wished he could pass out again now, if only to dull the blind terror that was rising up inside him, but his body seemed determined to stay awake. He was back. The Spire - that cursed place that had stolen his lord's sanity and had taken the lives of countless innocent men. Lucien wanted him, for what he wasn't entirely sure, but escape this time seemed more or less impossible.

"I had hoped-" Lucien began, and Garth looked around frantically. He was alone with this nutter. "-that you would join me on my crusade for a perfect world. I so dearly wanted you to be a part of it."

Garth scoffed, though he felt like he was going to throw up. "And your family?" he asked. Lucien descended the steps slowly, his eyes trained on Garth. He looked awful, like he hadn't slept in days.

"They at my left side, you at my right." he said simply. "I had it all _planned,_ and then you had to go and betray me. Do you know how much that crushed me?"

"I can imagine," Garth replied cynically. "You're causing the very thing you're trying to eradicate. Have you any idea how many have suffered, how many have died?"

"Casualties were to be expected," Lucien replied loftily.

"Maybe so, but not by the thousands." Garth retorted. He desperately needed to sit down, to get away from this madman. The most disturbing thing, perhaps, was that he could still see his old sire behind those senseless eyes. He had to look away, before he was sucked back in.

"You're missing the bigger picture, Garth. I'm surprised at you." Lucien stopped right in front of him. Garth trembled, desperate to get away. "Why won't you look at me?"

"Get away from me," Garth growled, stumbling backwards. Lucien followed him.

"Say you'll join me again, Garth. I would be overjoyed to have you at my side again."

"No," Garth snapped. He felt dizzy.

"You still have so much more to offer."

"I don't care," Garth felt weak now. He had to hold his ground…

"Garth, look at me!" Lucien seized him, and Garth woke with a start.

He lay still for a moment, waiting for his racing heart to calm down. Despite the chilly air, he felt hot and sick on the stomach, and he threw the sheets off of him. He sat up and opened the window by his bed, and leaned against the sill. The cold breeze dried his sweat-covered face.

The Spire loomed against the horizon, visible even in the dead of night. Including the time he spent as Lucien's associate, he had lost almost twenty years to that thing. That was half his life, gone. He wished he could have that time back.

For the past few days he had been gathering his thoughts, mentally planning the book he was going to write, and it had only truly sunk in that he was going to write about himself, he would have to be absolutely honest. About the Spire, about Lucien, about his guilt, everything.

He sighed and rested his chin on his arms. His family would be hard enough to write about, Lucien was something else entirely. For the first time, he understood Reaver's odd request (well, it had been an order, really) for privacy. It would be far less painful for Garth to omit that crucial part of his life entirely.

He put on his monocle and climbed out of bed to get himself a drink of water. His throat was parched.

**

Reaver was tired. It wasn't the usual weariness he felt, which stemmed from over two hundred years of life. He had slept even less than usual last night, simply because he had heard a single, despairing cry from the Mage. Had Reaver not been drunk off his arse, he would have gone to see what all the fuss was about.

Garth had been having a nightmare; of that, Reaver was certain. It was startling to think that there was anything hidden deep within Garth's mind that disturbed him enough to make him dream of it. Reaver wondered why he was surprised, as he himself had regular nightmares. One couldn't judge these things based on appearance alone.

He had stayed awake after that, listening, wondering if he would hear anything pertaining to dreams. But Garth had gone downstairs for a while, then returned to his room a little later, and Reaver had sat in a silent house for the rest of the night.

His mind was wandering; he knew he shouldn't let it, given that he was in a council meeting at that very moment. But who could blame him, given that these meetings were so _boring, _and that he had a very delightful distraction waiting for him at home, begging to be ravished? Not that he had actually gotten around to propositioning Garth yet, but it was on his to-do list! _1. Continue fixing Oakfield. 2. Fuck Garth. 3. Buy new outfit. 4. Fuck Garth._

Perhaps he would even need to buy another outfit after that, were he to ruin the first one by fraternising with Garth. Maybe he could buy an outfit specifically for canoodling with Garth? He would call it his _Mage Fucker_ outfit. Yes, that would fit snugly in his closet, right next to his _Shooty Shooty Bang Bang_ outfit, and his _I'm Greater than You_ outfit, which he was wearing today. It was his favourite, after all.

He began to laugh at his own thoughts. Unfortunately, seeing as he was in the company of a dozen or so men, and seeing as they had been thoughts and not words spoken aloud, he soon realised how mad he actually looked. He tried to calm himself down, but the bewildered expressions of the councilmen only made him laugh harder.

"Any questions?" he managed to ask finally. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. Sometimes it truly was fun to be him.

The councilmen glanced at each other sidelong. Clearly, they thought him insane.

"Sir," one ventured finally, a balding, stocky man with two - no, maybe three chins. "The, ah… About the port-"

"This _again?_" Reaver exclaimed loudly, his funny mood causing him to be far more exaggerated with his utterances. "Have I not explained it enough to you? This-"

He stood up and pointed to the large diagram hoisted onto a stand. The diagram had been beautifully mapped - Reaver resolved to give the artist a cookie.

"-is the bay. _This_ is where the docks will go. And _these _are the pillars that will hold the docks in place, pillars that will be replaced by your dead bodies if you dare ask me anything more about this damned port!"

Oh, how he _hated _Sparrow. It was bad enough that the man had found and read his diary. But to emotionally blackmail him into fixing Oakfield, to impose all these rules and restrictions on him, and to _insist _that his efforts be accompanied by a council full of old buffoons… it was too much. But he could do nothing about it, because Sparrow could kill him with a flick of his wrist and a muttered Will spell before Reaver had even drawn his pistol. Reaver could easily kill him in a shootout or a swordfight, but magic was his downfall. And Sparrow knew it.

The men stared at him wildly, and Reaver _itched _to reach for his _Dragonstomper_, to kill each and every one of them for daring to bore him with their mediocre existence. But he could not, and so he exercised his self-control.

"Any more questions?" he asked, his voice forcibly calm. One man began to speak, and Reaver cut him off. "It was rhetorical. I don't care." With that he walked out, leaving the baffled men in their seats to gossip about him.

He had come down from his earlier high quickly, leaving him in a foul, brooding mood. He ignored the greetings of the villagers as he marched home; his trigger finger was too damned itchy for him to pretend to be pleasant with the commoners.

He found Garth sitting in the yard, under an oak tree that overlooked the ocean. He was reading, and as Reaver grew closer he saw that it was one of his own - _The Tale of Twinblade. _Garth must have raided the cellar to find that old thing; it had never been one of Reaver's favourites, and had been out of print for a long, long time.

"Enjoying that, are you?" Reaver asked sullenly. Garth hadn't even noticed him approach.

Garth stared up at him. "Hello to you, too." he replied, unappreciated of Reaver's testy mood. Reaver scowled.

"Don't start with me, Mage; I'll have none of it." Caring little for grace, he flopped down beside Garth, glowering out at the ocean without actually seeing it. "Tell me, dear Mage: have you ever hated someone?"

Garth looked surprised. "What's this about?" he asked, closing his book to give Reaver his full attention.

"Just answer the question," Reaver growled. Garth cocked an eyebrow.

"I've _disliked _many," he answered carefully. "But I can count the people I've truly hated on one hand. Now, will you answer mine?"

"Who are they?" Reaver asked.

"Reaver, enough." Garth looked frustrated now, and Reaver decided he liked the way Garth said his name. Samarkandan accent with a hint of Alban nobility; he had spent a lot of time around Lucien and his ilk, or so Reaver was led to believe. "What's this about?"

"I hate Sparrow." Reaver confessed through gritted teeth.

Garth looked surprised - if both eyes were visible, Reaver guessed he'd be blinking. "Truly?"

"Very much so." Reaver growled. "I want nothing more than to march up to his little castle and put a bullet in his skull."

Garth was silent for a long moment. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked finally, his voice heavy.

"I was rather hoping you would talk me out of it."

"You're an adult, show some maturity. How old did you say you were?"

At that, Reaver gave a decidedly ill-bred snort. "Two hundred." he replied. "Though in truth, it's much closer to 250. It's just easier to say two hundred."

"But far more accurate to say 250," Garth pointed out flatly. Reaver laughed now, amused.

"All right, from now on I'll say I'm almost 250, just for you." he said. Garth looked surprised for a moment before chuckling and turning his head away. Reaver caught sight of his pink cheeks, and suddenly felt a little better.

He wondered if he had been forgiven for his outburst a few days ago. Probably not - that look of utter panic on Garth's face in that split second after he was slammed against the wall had made Reaver falter. When Garth had thrown him off, Reaver had fired out of reflex - of course he didn't want to shoot Garth. He'd given his Shard fragment to Garth as a peace offering, but while Garth had accepted it, he was still on his guard around Reaver.

Reaver was angry at himself for losing his temper at Garth. He wanted Garth on his side after all. Sparrow would be no match against both of them, and Reaver would be able to tell him to blow his 'rules' out of his arse.

He needed to be _gentle _with Garth. Gentle and subtle and everything that Reaver was not. He resisted the urge to sigh loudly.

He could remember meeting Garth vividly. How could he not, given that his beloved ship had been blown to pieces by a flying pointy rock moments later? He was certainly something to look at, with his dark skin, white hair and creepy glowing blue lines all over his body. He showed no remorse for the dozens of men Reaver and Sparrow had killed as they escaped Bloodstone - Reaver liked that. Not like Hammer, who had bitched and moaned about all the killing. He was also smart - why that blind woman hadn't sent Garth instead of Sparrow to meet Reaver was beyond him. He certainly wouldn't have sent away a man that _intriguing. _

Garth was staring out at the sea now, content with being in his own world. Reaver couldn't understand that; long periods of silence made him uncomfortable. He was about to make a cheeky comment when he noticed how _still _Garth was. Barely breathing, even. Reaver followed Garth's line of sight - he was looking at the Spire.

Ah, perhaps that was the thing that gave the Mage nightmares? Spending many years trapped in that thing couldn't have been good for Garth's mind. And if his thoughts were lingering on it now… Blasted thing. If only Reaver could shoot it-

He paused. An idea crept into his mind and he grinned.

"What are you looking at?" he asked as innocently as he could. He scooted closer to Garth, all but resting his chin on the man's shoulder. Garth's reaction was to jerk away in shock. Reaver chuckled.

"Is that mean old bit of rock giving you funny looks?" he asked, unable to keep the condescension from his voice entirely. "Well, why don't we teach it a lesson?"

Garth stared at him blankly, though Reaver could see a hint of sadness in his face. He wondered what had happened to Garth in that thing.

"I could shoot it, if you like." he suggested lightly.

Garth's expression changed as he looked at Reaver incredulously. "You're going to _shoot _the _Spire_?" he asked dubiously.

Reaver sighed. He was two hundred- no, _almost 250 _years old, surely he was allowed a little bit of insanity. Insanity was what made life fun for him at the moment, seeing as he had been placed on an indefinite killing-ban by Sparrow. He drew his pistol and stood up.

"That's right," he replied cheerily. He aimed at the far-distant structure. "Do you think I'll hit it?"

"I was under the impression that you never miss," Garth replied. He was beginning to play along now. Reaver liked that.

"True enough, and it _is _a rather large building." he said, wondering if his bullet would cover even an eighth of the distance. He fired, and after a moment of stillness, tucked the pistol away again. "I'm not sure what I was expecting to happen," he admitted, grinning.

"It was a nice thought, in any case," Garth said, and there was a hint of humour in his voice. "You need a larger gun perchance."

"Which gun do you refer to?" Reaver asked cheekily as he sat back down, and Garth's face flushed. "I imagine you're not as crude as that barbaric woman, but one can never be too sure about these things." Reaver disliked Hammer - he didn't hate her as he did Sparrow, but she was all brawn, without a hint of femininity in her being at all. Yet Garth was friendly with her, and Sparrow seemed to love her… it was baffling.

Garth frowned; Reaver knew he disapproved of the bad-mouthing. "No, not nearly as crude," he muttered. "I haven't the confidence to be so."

"Nor the obscenity," Reaver added, and Garth chuckled again. "But really, Mage, if the big pointy Spire upsets you so much, I can simply cover it up."

"Cover up the Spire now, is it?" Garth's voice shook with amusement, and it made an odd warmth blossom in Reaver's chest. "Tell me, how do you plan to do that?"

"I'll just toss a sky-blue sheet over it."

Garth was laughing now, and Reaver was finding it difficult not to join in. "And what would happen on an overcast day? There would just be a giant pointy blue thing on the horizon."

"Why are you trying so hard to put a damper on this?" Reaver demanded, though he was smiling. Garth laughed again.

Reaver watched him; Garth looked much younger when he smiled. Reaver wondered how old he actually was - he had thought Garth was in his thirties, but judging from Hammer-troll's tirade, and Garth's subsequent reaction, he was older. Perhaps he was in his forties? He couldn't be older than that, surely.

"Mage, you should smile more." the words had left Reaver's mouth before his brain had a chance to process them.

"Should I just?" Garth replied mildly, opening his book again. He was humouring Reaver. Well, Reaver wasn't going to have that!

"Yes, you should. You would get far more than a passing glance if you did."

Garth looked up again and cocked an eyebrow. Reaver liked that little quirk of his - he found it charming.

"I get far more than a passing glance now," Garth pointed out. "You said it yourself: nothing about me is inconspicuous."

Reaver chuckled. "Has that observation of mine been weighing on your mind?" he asked.

Garth smiled wryly. "A little, yes."

"Well, you shouldn't worry. Despite your peculiarities - or perhaps, because of them - you're very easy on the eye." Reaver smirked and leaned forward, into Garth's space. Garth jerked away automatically. "Not to mention your accent," Reaver purred. "I told you before, I do like it."

"You said that you liked accents in general," Garth replied, his face red. He closed his book again, sighing. "I can never enjoy a good book when you're around," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Of course not. Woe befall me if I were ever to let you," Reaver said, and Garth chuckled.

**

Booze was awesome. Unlike most people, Reaver didn't drink it at parties - he had learnt his lesson long ago, when he had gotten completely hammered and woken up tied to a table, blindfolded and gagged and at the mercy of the craziest bitch he had ever known. No, Reaver drank because it helped him sleep. He would get a massive burst of energy, then he would crash with exhaustion and be up at the crack of dawn the next day, without fail. Unless he had bedded someone, of course. Then he would stay in bed, hoping for the possibility of a round two when his fuck-buddy woke.

Spirits were the greatest thing ever, beside himself. They got him drunk faster than any other type of alcohol. Why didn't Garth like grog? It made Reaver feel damn good. Perhaps some drunkard had done something to him? If that were the case, Reaver hoped Garth had killed the fool.

Garth hadn't even gone to bed yet. He had shut himself up in his study late afternoon, and hadn't emerged since. Without his entertainment, Reaver had been forced to _work, _and it - as some members of his old crew used to say - had sucked nuts.

What the hell was Garth doing in there, anyway? _Having a wank_, Reaver thought, and he looked down at himself thoughtfully. Perhaps he could have a tug too?

He paused and sighed, realising that he was completely drunk. He set the bottle of alcohol aside for the night reluctantly, knowing it would always be there tomorrow. He would wait until nightfall to have a nip too - after making that strange promise to Garth, he felt weirdly obligated to keep it. "Fuckin' Will user," he muttered, and paused. That wasn't such a bad idea.

_Not now,_ he scolded himself. If he was going to sleep with Garth, he would have to wait. He needed Garth to trust him, at least more than he did Sparrow, and drunkenly propositioning him would probably do more harm than good. Reaver laughed as he imagined Garth's reaction, and paused when he caught sight of himself in his full-length mirror. _No wonder the Mage is always blushing,_ he concluded. Even dressed down as he was, in his night pants (_emerald _green, the _best_ kind of green) and loose white night shirt, he still looked _damn_ good.

He laughed again, but this time without humour. Hell, maybe the Mage blushed all the time because he was in love with him. Reaver reached for the bottle and took another deep swig, before remembering he had actually stopped drinking for the night. Oh, but he was a brilliant man. A brilliant, idiotic, tired, immortal man. Being drunk was awesome.

Where the fuck was Garth? Reaver should have heard him go to bed by now, surely. Maybe one of his Old Kingdom doodahs had exploded in his face, though Reaver dismissed that idea quickly. He would have heard the boom.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he climbed out of bed and padded downstairs. Sure enough, beneath the cellar door (_study door, you fucking fool_) was the strip of light that told him Garth was still awake. He pushed open the door and walked down the stairs.

Garth was at his desk, brow furrowed as he concentrated on whatever he was writing. Reaver guessed he was planning that book he kept mentioning. He already had a pile of notes - how big was this book going to be? Then again, Reaver _was _two hundred years old (_no, almost 250_), so it was always going to be lengthy.

"Make sure you use the word 'surreptitious'," he said. Garth jumped, and Reaver felt a thrill of pride at knowing he could even drunkenly sneak up on the man.

"Surreptitious, you say?" Garth asked inquisitively. Reaver nodded enthusiastically, further descending the stairs.

"It's not used enough," he elaborated. "And it's such a marvellous word."

"Ah. Well, I'll see if I can work it in. Nothing about you is surreptitious though, Thief, so don't hold your breath." Garth's nose wrinkled then, and Reaver knew he could smell the alcohol.

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you tonight, so I thought I could have a snifter," he said, holding his hands up in surrender, not knowing why he felt the need to explain himself. Garth shook his head.

"You've had more than a snifter," he pointed out, and Reaver shrugged.

"Didn't drink around you, didn't break my promise," he said stubbornly. At that, Garth chuckled softly.

"All right, I'll let you get away with that." he said, and Reaver grinned.

"You writing about me?" he asked curiously. Garth shook his head.

"Not yet. I don't quite know where to start with you." he admitted.

"Start with how brilliant I am," Reaver said, lifting his chin proudly. "Then just go from there. You'll find it writes itself!"

Garth didn't answer, and it took Reaver a few moments to realise he was getting stared at, and another few to realise why. Garth had never seen him dressed down like this. He grinned, and did a silly twirl on the spot.

"Do I look good?" he asked eagerly. Garth laughed, his cheeks turning pink, and Reaver decided he liked that combination.

"Don't you always?" Garth replied simply, and Reaver found that he couldn't disagree.

He began to look around the cellar (_study, damn you_) curiously, and found himself staring at that old bed. Sparrow had called it evil, though Reaver didn't know why. Maybe because it was so ugly? No, that wasn't it - if Sparrow hated the evilly ugly, he would have killed that barbaric woman a long time ago. Maybe it ate the soul of anyone who slept in it? No, Sparrow still had his soul, that much was apparent. Maybe brains? Yes, that was most likely it. Brains. It would certainly explain a few things.

He turned back to Garth. "So it ate Sparrow's brain, did it?" he asked. Garth looked at him in complete bewilderment, and Reaver couldn't figure out why- Oh, right. He was drunk.

"I don't think I want to know," Garth muttered, and Reaver laughed. "At least you're a happy drunk, I suppose."

"Only because I'm talking to you, dear Mage," Reaver replied, not entirely lying. He took to Garth's side, staring down at the plethora of notes sightlessly. "You know, it's late."

"How late?" Garth sounded surprised.

"Sleep-time late."

"Oh." Garth looked up at him closely, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Then why aren't you asleep?"

"Because I needed to inform you of the time!" Reaver said, and laughed bitterly in spite of himself. "And get drunk off my arse too, it seems."

Garth looked surprised, before his expression grew closed - a sure sign he was upset about something. Reaver frowned and, refusing to let Garth withdraw into himself, touched Garth's face, underneath his monocle. Garth's visible eye widened.

"You shouldn't wear this clunky all the time," he said, in what he hoped was a low voice. He was rather drunk, after all.

"Why?" Garth's answer was merely a breath.

"You hide behind it, and that annoys me." Reaver said plainly. "I've told you before, my dear Mage - I enjoy looking at you."

Garth's face flushed a brilliant red, and Reaver couldn't help but drag his thumb across Garth's cheek before he pulled his hand away. He wagered he was the first person in a long, long time that made Garth look like that. He smiled. Garth was an incredibly brilliant, yet socially awkward man. Reaver knew he would have to be careful with him.

"Why did you come down here?" Garth asked suddenly.

Reaver laughed, remembering his drunken theory about exploding Old Kingdom artefacts.

"I didn't hear a boom," he said simply, and laughed harder at Garth's bewildered expression.


	5. Subtlety

Winter had given grudging way to Spring, which meant that Reaver's least favourite Oakfield tradition had rolled around - the First Harvest Festival. The first crops of the season were to be auctioned off, the proceeds going towards the town. It used to be that all profits would be donated to the Temple of Light, but Reaver had insisted they be added to the town's treasury when he approved the annual festival's reinstatement two years ago. He didn't want to use his _own_ money to fix up this shit hole, after all.

He had already resolved to stay far, far away from the auctions, lest he be expected to bid. He didn't understand why anyone would want to pay so much for crops. The prices would be back to normal the following day, anyway. Hammer had said something about goodwill last year, but Reaver rarely listened to her on the best of days.

Perhaps Garth had forgotten about Oakfield's Spring festival, or perhaps he had never known about it in the first place, but the look on his face when he looked into town and saw all the people gathering there was priceless. It almost made Reaver glad he had approved this ridiculous tradition.

"Why are there so many _people _down there?" Garth sounded dismayed, reminding Reaver once again that the man certainly wasn't a socialite.

Reaver held back his laughter. 'Cute' was the only word he could think of that aptly described Garth's social awkwardness. Cute and strangely endearing.

"It's a festival, dear Mage," he answered, with more enthusiasm than he felt. "Why not have a look - perhaps a ridiculously overpriced vegetable will catch your eye! You'll have to fight for it though, those bidders are fiercely competitive."

Garth gave him a blank look. "I don't like going into town on the best of days," he said flatly. In fact, the only time he did leave the mansion was to visit Hammer.

"True enough," Reaver conceded. He couldn't help the stupid smile on his face. "But don't discount it all just yet. There is always a little song-and-dance at the Sandgoose in the evening. I went last year and thoroughly enjoyed myself."

"Is that because you found someone to take home afterwards?" Garth asked dryly.

"Four someones, actually." Reaver laughed when Garth began to choke.

"I'm certainly not going to it." Garth said firmly. He turned and made his way into the backyard. Reaver frowned. He had practically asked Garth to attend that celebration with him, and Garth had refused? No one refused him! _Except for Sparrow,_ he reminded himself, and scowled.

Well, Garth wasn't like Sparrow, or anyone else Reaver had met. That was why Reaver was fond of him.

"Do you even know how to have fun?" he asked sulkily, following Garth into the yard.

Garth stretched out across the grass, his visible eye closed against the warm sun, his expression peaceful as he listened to the ocean's waves. "Your definition of fun and my definition differ greatly, it seems," he said, without looking up.

Reaver plonked himself down beside him. Garth wasn't watching, so he cared little for elegance. "So you actually _enjoy _spending all your time alone? I'm afraid I don't understand, Mage."

"Well, I _used _to. You've made it impossible now." Garth sounded faintly amused. He still didn't open his eyes. "Besides, you've spent two hundred years alone, you're in no position to judge."

"I suppose that depends on your definition of alone, doesn't it?" Reaver replied cheekily. If Garth was amused at having his own words thrown back at him, he didn't show it.

"I assumed it meant distancing yourself from others, in whatever way." he said simply.

_Touché,_ Reaver thought irritably. Sometimes, he hated Garth. He lay back in the grass and closed his eyes, mimicking Garth's position. The sun was pleasantly warm and the breeze was cool. He was surprised to find he felt content.

"So will you be joining me at the merrymaking this evening?" he asked lazily. He was curious to see how Garth would handle himself in a crowd of drunken revellers. When Garth didn't answer, Reaver opened his eyes to find the Mage staring at him blankly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked. Garth stayed silent, and Reaver laughed. "Oh, come now, think of all the people there! Imagine if I were to forget myself… Perhaps, lose my temper…"

Garth scowled. "You can't threaten that," he growled indignantly.

Reaver grinned victoriously. "I just did."

"Why are you so insistent I attend this thing?" Garth asked.

"Fun?"

"No, not fun. Bad. Very bad."

"All right then, because I'm a prick. You've said it yourself." Reaver replied smugly, and laughed when Garth sighed heavily.

"Yes, and you enjoy revelling in the discomfort of others. Hammer has told me enough times." He sat up and rested his arm on his knee, propping his head up with his hand. "I'm interested to see when I'll be allowed to form my own opinions though."

Reaver raised an eyebrow. He had guessed that Hammer would hound Garth about him, but for Garth to actually sound bitter about it… It was startling, yet oddly sweet. Perhaps he had warmed up to Reaver more than either of them really knew.

"In the lovely Hammer-troll's case, if you don't share her opinion, you're wrong." Reaver pointed out. "I doubt she fully understands what an opinion is."

"Opinions can be wrong, but I know what you're saying," Garth replied. His lips twitched into a smile. "And Sparrow?"

Reaver was surprised to hear that Sparrow had been bothering Garth, though he kept it to himself. "I don't even try to understand that man," he said instead. Sparrow's mind had been scrambled by everything he had been through. If he snapped tomorrow and went on a murder spree, Reaver wouldn't be surprised to hear about it. "He belched at me when we first met, you know," he said. "I invited him into my bed, and he _belched_ in reply!"

Garth was startled into laughter, and Reaver grinned despite himself. "It's not funny," he said. "It was most unseemly. So off I sent him to become more famous. If only he had learnt some manners too."

"You played that game because he rejected your advances?" Garth sounded amused.

"That was part of it," Reaver admitted. Garth chuckled.

"Age doesn't always equal wisdom," he said sagely. "In fact, in this case it doesn't even equal maturity."

"That's a little mean," Reaver said, doing his best to sound hurt. Garth simply laughed.

"Think of it as pre-emptive revenge for dragging me to this stupid party tonight," he said, and Reaver couldn't keep the grin off his face.

**

The noise was overwhelming. Garth hadn't realised there were so many people in Oakfield. Many already had a drink in their hands, and most were dressed up in their finest clothes. It didn't matter, Garth mused idly. Reaver could have turned up wearing a potato sack and still have been the most attractive person in the room.

Garth chose to sit at a little table overlooking the railing on the Sandgoose balcony, where he had a good view of the revellers. Though he could barely hear himself think over the noise, he did catch snippets of conversations, all indicating that the profits received this year were 'exceptional.' Brilliant, so he would have to put up with extra loud, extra drunk celebrations. He was already wishing he had stayed at home.

Reaver placed a goblet of juice on the table in front of him, eyeing him closely.

"Try not to look so happy."

Garth scowled up at him. "I truly dislike gatherings. You're well aware of that, I'm sure."

"No need to sound so bitter. I could shoot them all and end this now, if you please." Reaver laughed when Garth glared at him. "All right, bad idea. But if it's the drunks that are making you uncomfortable, just remember that you can send them shooting through the roof with your freaky magic if they try anything funny."

"Of course," Garth grumbled. He took a sip of his drink; it was cool and refreshing.

"You could always dance with me instead," Reaver suggested lightly, and Garth spluttered. "What? It would probably make people back off, in any case."

"You can't be serious," Garth muttered despairingly. Reaver laughed.

"Suit yourself. Most would call you mad to turn down my offer though."

"Most would simply call you mad," Garth retorted, and Reaver laughed harder.

"Well, where you shy away from attention, I revel in it, and I won't be put-off simply because you're a grisly-guts."

"Grisly-guts?" Garth exclaimed, bemused, but Reaver was already walking away. Did Reaver seriously just use a term that Garth had abandoned as a _child_?

"Did he really just say that? Really?" Hammer plonked herself down in the seat opposite to Garth, echoing his thoughts. A large bottle of gods-knew-what was in her hand, and her nose and cheeks were already pink with drunkenness. "I haven't heard that since I was six! Though I thought it meant you were a pig."

"I thought it meant you were a whiner." Garth replied. He looked back down at Reaver. The man was weaving his way through the crowd rather determinedly, and a few moments later Garth saw why. He approached a young woman who was sitting alone, a little way away from everyone else, her eyes downcast. Judging from the way she blushed brilliantly when Reaver spoke to her, she was even shyer than Garth.

Leading her to the dance floor, Reaver attracted quite a few surprised stares, and Garth had to marvel at his calculating mind. Reaver was as subtle as he was flamboyant.

"Oh, _man of the people!_" Hammer drawled sarcastically, but she sounded more amused than vindictive. She leaned on the table and leered at Garth, almost spilling her drink in the process. "You're fond of him, aren't ya." she said, as though she had only just noticed.

"I suppose I am," Garth murmured, not taking his eyes off Reaver, and not entirely because he embodied elegance at that moment. He had spoken to Hammer a few days ago with the intention of taking notes, and what she had told him still troubled him.

"We cleaned the Wellspring of Light once a week at first," she'd said, dipping her feet into the small pool at the Temple and looking at Garth. "Well, I didn't. I couldn't go in there."

"Why not?" Garth asked curiously.

She gnawed at her lip, hesitant to answer. "It… I…" She cleared her throat and looked away. "Collecting water," she murmured bitterly, more to herself than to Garth. "Collecting bloody _water _when I should have been there for my father."

"Hammer?" Garth was somewhat alarmed. He knew the story, of course, but never had he heard Hammer speak of it. It had been Theresa who told him.

"I-I'm sorry," Hammer stammered, still gnawing at her lip. "But you asked, and…"

"It's all right, Hammer." Garth soothed awkwardly. He was unused to comforting others, and truthfully he didn't think he was very good at it. But he tried for Hammer all the same. "Tell me what you will."

"Okay," she sniffed, and Garth was startled to hear a note of spite in her voice. "Okay, I'll tell you. I love Sparrow, but I hate him for his choice at the Spire. You wanna know why? Because he could have wished back thousands and thousands of people, my father one of them. But he didn't."

It was as though a dam had broken. Garth could only sit there and listen as Hammer's pent-up bitterness, anger, sorrow and frustration spilled forth relentlessly. His pen and paper lie forgotten - he didn't need to take notes to remember _this._

"You know what he did?" she continued furiously. "He brought back four people and a dog. Five, if that sister of his was counted. Five people, as opposed to thousands." She looked at him, a mix of sorrow and anger on her normally smiling face, tears gathering in her eyes. "I can't forgive him for that."

She seemed all right now, Garth mused. She was laughing, shouting jests to friends on the dance floor and drinking great gulps of drink in between. Her spirits were high, and a moment later she told Garth why.

"There were so many donations to the Temple this year," she said cheerily. "So many! We don't even need to take a portion of the auction money! Reaver'll be pleased. He reckons money should be spent on something 'useful' rather than 'religion'." She wrinkled her nose before blinking. "Hang on! You've got something in common there! Quick, run down and tell him!"

Garth stared at her blankly. She shrugged.

"You like him, don't you? You'll wanna tell him before he chooses someone to take home. A couple of someones even, if last year is anything to go by."

Garth ignored her teasing, though his heart skipped a beat as he remembered that possibility. It bothered him, like an annoying buzz in his ear. He looked down at Reaver - Reaver looked almost _normal _as he waltzed with the girl. She was either too shy around Reaver, or she didn't know how to dance, because she was stumbling over the steps. Reaver was laughing good-naturedly as she flushed and covered her face with her hands.

"Try again." Garth managed to read Reaver's lips as he took the girl's hands again. Garth's blood warmed unpleasantly as he watched - it had been a long time since he had felt jealousy. Frustrated with himself, he shook his head to rid it of those thoughts.

Hammer noticed his displeasure. "Aww, come on," she slurred, leaning forward. Garth wondered how much alcohol she had actually consumed. "At least he looks happy, hmm?"

"You are completely off your face, Hammer," he replied tersely.

Hammer laughed. "And _you _can't seem to look away from that pompous idiot with the weird… beard… thingy." She rubbed her chin pointedly. "What the hell's that for, anyway? I don't get it. Maybe it was the fashion back when he was a normal person, but it still looks bloody stupid…"

Garth stopped listening, and it wasn't because he was sick of Hammer's drunken chatter. At that moment, Reaver looked up. He smirked triumphantly as he held Garth's gaze, and Garth suddenly understood.

That calculating, smug bastard - he wasn't trying to make himself noticed by the townspeople, he didn't even _need _to. No, he was trying to make Garth jealous - and damn it all, it was working.

Garth seethed, as much annoyed at himself for falling for it as he was with Reaver for pulling it. Subtle mind, indeed.

**

It took two punch ups, three lurid proposals and a particularly annoying, repetitive song for Garth to decide he had had enough. Hammer had also declared something at the top of her voice, though she was slurring her words so badly by then that Garth still wasn't sure what it was she had declared.

He was in a foul mood - crowds did that to him. He hadn't bothered to bid anyone goodnight before he left, and now as he skulked home he noticed that there were absolutely no guards out patrolling the streets. Perfect - the whole town could be pillaged while the order of the Albion Guards drank themselves stupid at a pointless gathering.

As he entered the house - the front door was, of course, unlocked - he wondered when Reaver would come home. Garth had been counting how many drinks Reaver indulged in - all of one. He hadn't been lying when he said he preferred to drink alone, Garth supposed. Perhaps he would announce his arrival, annoy Garth for a while before retiring to his room to drink himself to sleep. In one of his more serious moments, Reaver had confessed that passing out drunk was the only way he could sleep without being plagued by nightmares, though what those nightmares were about he refused to say.

As Garth entered his room, he decided he wouldn't mind it if Reaver followed him in here later. For what purpose, he wasn't sure, but he still wouldn't mind it.

He hadn't expected to be attacked.

The blow caught him in between his shoulder blades, knocking him off his feet. A sharp pain coursed through his body and he struggled to stand, to gather his wits and his Will to defend himself against whatever had attacked him. He caught sight of a man's silhouette against the darkness and lobbed a Fireball at it. The man screamed as his being caught fire, illuminating the room. Garth froze.

Half a dozen or so men were present, all wearing the same thing - dark uniforms, tight red masks, jagged Shard collars around their necks…

Garth's mind reeled. Hadn't Sparrow killed all of Lucien's followers years ago?

He only hesitated for a second, but a momentary lapse in concentration was all the group's leader, a Spire Soldier, needed. The creature was suddenly _right there,_ and Garth cried out as the blade grafted into its hand was thrust into his shoulder. Then he was thrown back with enough force to knock ten men off their feet, propelled through the window. Glass and debris cut and bruised his body as he fell two storeys and skid along the ground, dirt irritating his wounds.

"Bring him with us." The Soldier's gruff voice sounded distant. Garth struggled to hold onto consciousness, barely able to move his jarred body. But he had to get away, he would _not _be taken by the Spire Guards again…

"Oh, get _fucked._"

Never had Garth been so relieved to hear Reaver's irate voice. He opened his eyes to search for the Thief, but the world spun around him.

"Get up, Mage, you look pathetic." Garth didn't doubt that. Reaver sounded close.

"Who are you?" another voice asked. Reaver made an affronted noise, and Garth wanted to laugh. The house was under attack, and Reaver was insulted by his unrecognition.

"The owner of this house, thank you. I don't appreciate the ventilation you've given it, so far be it from me to let you have what you want."

Garth was suddenly hauled up, his head swimming sickeningly as he was pulled against a body. The familiar scent of gunpowder, mild cologne and spirits filled his nostrils, and he sighed.

"You're getting blood all over me," Reaver said lowly, in a mock disapproving tone, and Garth's vision swam into focus. Reaver was so _close…_

"You dare destroy my fucking house, and I've had such a good night otherwise!" Reaver shouted, and Garth's head spun again. "Fuck you! I'll fucking end you!" It was certainly easy enough to tell that Reaver had once been a sailor.

"Kill this idiot, get the Will User," the Soldier ordered, and Reaver leapt back, a protective arm still around Garth. Three shots were fired, and Garth figured he must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew he was on the ground, a hand against his face and other against his chest.

"Garth? Garth! Stop fooling around!" Reaver sounded uncharacteristically concerned. Garth opened his eyes and Reaver's worried face swam in front of him. He smiled - that expression looked so out of place on Reaver.

"Sorry, but I think-" was all he managed before he passed out.

**

He was warm, so warm - a bed, he realised, with soft pillows. His body throbbed dully and his head, _oh! _his head hurt the most. There were voices, dim at first, growing louder as he became more aware, and he opened his eyes - mistake! Even the faint light hurt his head. He groaned.

"The beauty awakes from her slumber."

"Shut it, Reaver!"

Garth opened his eyes again, slowly this time, to find himself in one of Reaver's guest rooms - one with a smaller window, he noted wryly. Reaver was sitting in a chair at the end of the bed, watching him closely. Hammer was kneeling beside the bed.

"You're awake," she gasped, and Garth could still smell alcohol on her breath. "We were so worried." Reaver shrugged, neither confirming nor denying her statement.

"We've sent an urgent letter off to Sparrow." he said, and he sounded annoyed. "I thought he'd purged Albion of Lucien's blasted men!"

"So did I," Hammer replied. "So did _he_, I think." She looked back down at Garth. "You're stronger than you look," she said, pretending to punch his arm lightly. "It's amazing that attack didn't knock you out right away!"

Garth found he was returning her smile. "I was knocked through the window, yes?" he asked hoarsely. He could only remember snippets of the attack. The Spire Guards, the pain… Reaver…

"Think again, Mage," Reaver muttered. "When you deigned to throw yourself through the window, you took most of your room's wall with you."

"It wasn't his fault," Hammer protested, but Garth could only laugh.

"That strong, was it? No wonder it hurt." He tried to sit up, but a stinging pain shot through his body. He fell back against the pillows, groaning.

"Easy, Mage," Reaver warned roughly. "I didn't let you bleed all over my clothes so that you could kill yourself now." Garth noticed then that Reaver had changed. Now he wore his simple green night pants, and his hair was beginning to fall out of place. He had washed, because there wasn't a trace of blood on him.

"You weren't grumpy when he was out cold," Hammer shot at him, and Reaver shrugged. She looked back at Garth. "They didn't know who he was," she said. "But they were after you. What-"

"Why would they?" Reaver countered, and he sounded as annoyed as ever. "They have a one-track mind, and that's to serve their dead master." He looked at Garth. "You once worked with the fool, did you not?"

"True," Garth rasped. He cleared his throat. His shoulder was beginning to ache where he had been stabbed. "They probably know also that Lucien had imprisoned me for something."

"Then they know that you escaped with Sparrow." Reaver pointed out bluntly. He looked at Hammer and smirked. "It appears you and I may be off the hook."

Hammer looked horrified. "That's an awful thing to say!"

"Is it? I can never tell with these things."

"Awful as it is, I think he's right," Garth said to Hammer. "If they didn't know who he was, chances are they don't know either of you were involved in Lucien's downfall. They probably blame me - and perhaps Sparrow - because we openly defied him."

"Ah, it's revenge that they're after then?" Reaver clasped his hands together in front of him. "Sounds like a wonderful idea!"

"What are you talking about?" Hammer snapped.

"My poor house, that's what! That hole is bigger than _you_, dear, and that's saying something!"

"_Anyway,_" Hammer growled irritably. "Sparrow should be here by the morning, if he gets that message right away." She looked down at Garth. "Everyone's been told to lock themselves in their houses. I've got the monks out surveying the area, but now I know you're okay, I'm going to join them." She smiled and patted his arm affectionately. "You've got Hero blood, so you'll probably be right by tomorrow night, but until then you should get some rest."

Garth smiled. "Thank you, Hammer."

"Just don't let yourself be attacked anymore." she said bluntly, and she snickered. "I'm sorry, but I'm leaving you with Reaver."

"Get out of my house, woman," Reaver snapped, sounding genuinely offended. Hammer laughed and quit the room, and only when he heard the front door close did Reaver move again. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "She is right, though. You'll be healed by tomorrow night at the latest."

"I know that," Garth replied simply. "Who tended to me?"

Reaver lifted his chin. "The doctor, of course. I summoned the best in Oakfield!"

"I understand that there are only two."

"Yes, and I summoned the better one."

Garth chuckled, and suddenly a wave of lethargy overcame him. He was content to just look up at Reaver, at his handsome face and strong body, and noticed that despite being in his nightclothes, Reaver still had his pistol on his person. Garth was briefly entertained by the thought of Reaver sleeping and bathing with the holster around his hips. Then he noticed something else.

"You've got no body hair," he observed sleepily.

Reaver looked at him, surprised. "Nor do you," he retaliated.

"Side effect of Will. I really don't know why," Garth mumbled. "What's your excuse?"

At that, Reaver chuckled. "None," he said lightly. "I just find body hair unsightly."

"Some would disagree with you."

"Well, dear Mage, that's because they're stupid."

Garth chuckled, too tired to argue. "You remove it, then."

"Of course. After two hundred yea- my mistake, _almost 250 _years of doing so, the process has become less painful, and less frequent." Reaver snickered. "Though I would have simply become a Will user had I known. I think every Aragonian would, actually. Besides, those pretty blue lines would look absolutely delightful on me."

Garth snorted and simply returned Reaver's gaze. Perhaps it was because of the pain and exhaustion, or maybe it was because Reaver's expression had never been so soft, but Garth's urge to touch the Thief was suddenly overpowering. Though it still hurt to move, he reached up and touched the side of Reaver's face. Reaver blinked in surprise, but he otherwise allowed it.

Garth's thumb brushed against Reaver's small goatee. "You still keep this bit of fluff though," he teased lazily.

Reaver looked indignant. "I'll have you know it's _dashing,_" he replied. "And look at this!" He tugged gently on Garth's goatee. "You _braid _yours like a _schoolgirl _braids her hair! You're in _no _position to talk!"

Garth laughed at his outrage, and soon Reaver began to chuckle too. Reaver took Garth's hand and lowered it gently.

"You should sleep," he said quietly. "Your wounds will heal faster if you do."

Garth nodded reluctantly. He was exhausted and struggling to stay awake, but he didn't want this moment to end. He suspected there were only a handful of people that had seen Reaver so at ease, and he counted himself lucky to be among them.

Reaver got up to leave. "You'll want to take your monocle off," he said as he went.

Garth hadn't even realised he was still wearing it. "Why didn't the doctor remove it?" he asked, surprised but grateful.

"I wouldn't let him," Reaver said gruffly. "You carry on like a pork chop every time it's off, I figured it was the least I could do to keep the peace."

He grinned before he shut the door, and Garth laughed quietly to himself. He'd been forced to spend the evening with drunken townsfolk and attacked by his former sire's men, but all that didn't matter because he was realising he was in _deep _with Reaver, and he just didn't give a damn.

He smiled as he drifted off to sleep. _Sorry, Sparrow, Hammer. You'll receive no help from me against him._


	6. Closer

Warning: This chapter contains smut at the end.

* * *

Garth slept until midmorning, and then only woke because Reaver had taken to poking him in the face. As he groaned and pushed the irritating Thief's hand away, he found that though his body still ached, he could actually move it. It was a vast improvement to the previous night.

"Mage, hurry up and get up so that Sparrow and his kid can get the hell out of my house." Reaver sounded irritable, and almost desperate. Garth blinked and looked at him - he looked so awful that Garth felt all of his ill feelings at being woken melt away. There were deep dark circles under Reaver's eyes, his complexion was pallid and even his hair was limp. He had clearly been up all night.

"His kid?" Garth asked sleepily. Reaver gave a small nod.

"The girl; I don't remember her name. That mangy beast is here too, of course. It's stinking up the carpet."

"Put it outside." Garth suggested flatly.

"I believe I shall. Everyone's in the dining room." Reaver replied, and quit the room.

Hammer looked even worse than Reaver. Her head was on the dining table, her cheek against the cool wood as she struggled to stay awake. Her eyes were screwed shut, and Garth guessed that she was suffering from the aftermath of a night of heavy drinking. When she heard Garth drag a chair out from under the table, she groaned and opened her eyes slowly.

"Why's your cheek red?" she asked groggily.

Reaver, already sitting at the head of the table, sniggered softly. Garth shook his head and sat to the right of him.

"He poked me until I woke up."

Hammer chuckled. "You planned that, didn't you." she said to Reaver. "No wonder you were so eager to wake him."

Reaver shrugged. "The world will never know," he said dreamily. Hammer laughed again, and Garth was amused to realise that all it took was a near-death experience for them to get along.

Sparrow's girl was sitting on the windowsill, watching for movement outside. Tall and slim, she was a solemn girl, and she paid no attention to the sleepy jesting around her. Her long brown hair was braided down her back, and she had her father's blue eyes. She had a katana and a pistol on her person, and Garth was impressed to see the beginning of Will scars on her tan skin - Sparrow was teaching his children his craft.

When Sparrow introduced her, Elisabeth simply inclined her head. Garth felt a wave of sympathy for her - no doubt her experience with Lucien had affected her.

Sparrow rarely sat still on the best of days. He paced along one side of the room and ran his hand through his hair, as he so often did when he was worried. He paused momentarily to address Garth.

"How are you feeling?"

Garth smiled grimly. "Much better than last night, thank you."

Sparrow nodded, looking satisfied, before continuing his pacing. Finally, a heavy sigh forced its way through his lips. "I thought I'd killed them all!" he burst out, startling Garth and causing Hammer to jump. "Where are they coming from now?"

"There are many holes for mice to hide in, especially in Albion," Reaver pointed out lightly. "While I'm quite annoyed, I can't say I'm too surprised."

"I suppose you're right," Sparrow sighed again and ran his hand through his hair. "It bothers me that they waited until Garth was back in Albion before they showed themselves. They weren't that smart in the Spire."

"Reaver said last night that you two openly defied Lucien," Hammer said, looking to Reaver, who nodded in confirmation. "So maybe he's right - maybe they're after you two."

"And not you?" Sparrow said dryly, more to Reaver than to Hammer. Reaver raised his eyebrows.

"There were no Guards present to witness that final confrontation with Lucien," he said coolly. "So how would any of them know what actually happened? All they know now is that you and he were open enemies of Lucien."

Garth rested his arms on the table as he massaged his temples. His head hurt far too much for this. But he could reason along this line of thinking. "So they capture me, use me as bait to lure in Sparrow, and… then what, kill us?"

Reaver shrugged. "Maybe. Tough luck to you if that's the case."

He said it whilst looking at Sparrow, but it had been in response to Garth's question - Garth felt hurt. He scowled and looked away.

"If that is the case, Sparrow, you'll need to be home with your family." he muttered. "Your wife and young children may be in danger."

He heard Sparrow hiss sharply, and when he looked up, there was a stricken expression on Sparrow's face. It was as though that thought had never occurred to him. "Damn him," he seethed. "Even in death he won't leave my family in peace. Burning for eternity is too good for him." He must have realised what he'd said, because he looked quickly at Elisabeth. The girl hadn't even flinched, her eyes still focused on outside.

"Go back to your children," Garth instructed firmly. "Surely we can handle Oakfield, now that we know to be on our guard."

"Yeah, my monks should be enough," Hammer said, though she sounded unsure. "They didn't get to fight last night, because Reaver had killed them all by the time we heard the commotion, but they should be ready."

"We could use more of your Guards," Reaver cut in, looking at Sparrow. "Two groups of ill-trained buffoons are far better than one, after all."

Hammer looked insulted. "You little weasel-"

"All right," Sparrow cut in firmly. "Fine. I'll send an order of the Guards here as reinforcements. I trust you've places to house them?"

Reaver shrugged. "The main room in the Town Hall should suffice. Lay out some bedrolls and they'll be good to go."

A strange look passed over Sparrow's face - Garth was surprised to realise Sparrow was impressed with Reaver.

"Put the Mage out on the field and you'll be asking for trouble though," Reaver added, and Garth choked.

"And what makes you say that?" he asked tersely. Reaver met his gaze evenly.

"You go looking for them and they'll gather in the one place until you find them. Then they overpower you again. Simple."

"I was _caught off guard _last night," Garth growled. "It won't happen again."

Reaver scoffed at him. "Says you," he said, and Garth seethed quietly. If he needed to use his powers on Reaver to prove he could take care of himself, then so be it. At the moment, he certainly wasn't above that idea.

"Perhaps," he growled. "I should go somewhere else. Away from people."

Something flashed behind Reaver's eyes, but it was gone before Garth had a chance to decipher it. "And leave yourself even more vulnerable to attack?" Reaver scoffed. "Come now, Mage, you're supposed to be the intelligent one!"

"I'll stay." A quiet voice put a halt to the arguing as effectively as a shout. Elisabeth had turned in her seat, her eyes now focused on her father pointedly. "You have dozens and dozens of your guards at Bowerstone. Let me help here."

Sparrow returned her gaze, looking unsure.

"She can stay with me," Hammer offered helpfully before stifling a yawn. "I'll keep an eye on her if that's what you're worried about. She'd be a great help, Sparrow." Elisabeth smiled at her, and the difference it made was startling - she was certainly her father's daughter.

"You've trained me well, Father," she insisted. "Let me put my skills to good use."

Sparrow looked from his daughter to Hammer, and then sighed, defeated. "Alex is going to killme," he muttered.

"Thank you, Father."

"Oh, babysitting. How joyous!" Reaver said, and Garth scoffed.

"Eighteen is hardly a baby."

"I actually meant you, my dear Mage," Reaver replied, and Garth felt his cheeks heat up as another wave of anger swept through him. Reaver could blow his self-importance out of his _arse_-

"Ignore him," Sparrow said. He looked at Hammer. "Forgive me, I know you've probably scoured the area, but-"

"You need to do it yourself," Hammer interrupted. She smiled. "I figured you would. I'll come with you."

"Now there's a surprise," Reaver sneered at them for a moment before looking at Garth. "Would you like her to hold _your _hand too?"

"Geeze, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed or something?" Hammer snapped.

"I didn't get up on _any _side of the bed, thank you," Reaver replied curtly, and Garth suddenly found himself willing to forgive Reaver for his testy attitude. No one could go a day without sleep _and _have their house destroyed without being cranky.

Hammer softened, too. "Neither did I." she said. "That's why I'm going straight to bed after this. The monks can handle themselves for one day."

"I doubt we'll find anything," Sparrow added plainly. "But we'll look just in case. Garth, take care." He nodded to Garth before flicking his wrist at his daughter. "Elisabeth, with me."

Elisabeth jumped off the windowsill and pushed her bangs out of her face. She nodded to Garth as she followed Sparrow and Hammer out.

"So much fun," Reaver muttered, and he stifled a yawn. "For once, I think I'll actually listen to the Hammer-troll." He stood lazily, and rubbed one eye sleepily. "My bed sounds inviting, and not for its usual reasons," he said, and flashed a grin. Garth couldn't help but chuckle. "You can stay in that room you were in last night. It's right next to mine, actually." he added thoughtfully. "What do you think about that?"

"Oh, great. I'll be able to hear _everything._" Garth jested.

"I'd be alarmed if you couldn't hear your own voice," Reaver said cheerily, and Garth choked, his cheeks on fire. "I told the doctor to come around this afternoon, to remove the stitches in your shoulder," he said, nodding to where Garth had been stabbed. "Be sure to observe his astonishment thoroughly if I'm not awake - he didn't believe me when I said they would be ready to be removed this afternoon."

"Of course," Garth replied dryly, and Reaver bowed theatrically.

"Do stay out of trouble, dear Mage," he said, and with that he retired to his room.

As soon as his door shut, Garth went upstairs, curious to see the damage to his former room. The destruction was _amazing, _he decided as he scanned the room. Furniture had been strewn about, wallpaper had been singed, unpleasant red marks smeared here and there, and a layer of dust covered everything. But that wasn't what caught Garth's attention. He stepped over the wreckage carefully, mindful of slipping, as he approached the damaged wall. The hole was perfectly rounded, he noted wryly. It was clean too, with no cracks travelling across the rest of the wall from it, which was lucky - the house's structure was stable.

He looked out of the hole to the ground below. Where he had landed was obvious, marked by a huge dirt patch where grass had once been. Debris and glass was strewn across the lawn, and Garth decided he agreed with Hammer - it was remarkable he hadn't been knocked out.

He stared out across the town, sensing its silence even from there, and wondered if perhaps he should leave. But Reaver was right - he would be setting himself up for attack if he did that. Spire Guards were powerful - who knew how many of them were out there? When he and Sparrow had escaped the Spire, the had barely made it out alive. A dozen or more of them could overwhelm any of them. They had a much better chance of defeating them together.

Besides, he truly did not want to leave. Garth grit his teeth at his own selfishness. Once, he would have scorned the idea of putting an entire town of people in danger for the company of a wicked pirate.

**

Reaver had had bad days before. Getting captured by Lucien was the most recent one. His ship getting attacked by the kraken was another, and his mansion in Bloodstone burning down after that crazy bitch Penelope set it on fire was another. Then there were days that were off the charts - Oakvale's attack, his so-called _initiation _into pirate life, the death of… He shuddered. These were things he blocked out completely, things that only haunted him in his dreams, and nothing could ever compare to them.

Still, the last twenty-four hours had sucked eggs, as far as he was concerned. He had been having such a good night, too - he always enjoyed a good party, whether it was a simple dance or a wild bash. He'd noticed Garth leave, and had waited until the end of the current song to follow him.

He knew Garth was attracted to him. There was no mistaking it now, and Reaver was tired of waiting. He had followed Garth home with the intention of tumbling into bed with him, knowing that he wouldn't be rejected.

Finding Garth's broken and battered body in the front yard had been a shock. Seeing the damage to his house in addition to that had caused Reaver to, as one of his former crewmen used to say - _flip his shit._

He'd had the element of surprise on his side, shooting all seven of the men in the heads before they managed to work out he was a competent enemy. He was under no delusions that, had they been prepared for him, he would have been able to take them all down. Perhaps with Garth's help, yes, but not by himself, and especially not if one of them could use magic. They had already nearly killed him once.

Oh, but Garth's condition had frightened him. The world's most powerful mage, taken out with a single attack. Well, it would not happen again. Reaver would make sure of that.

It was late evening, and though Reaver hadn't eaten since breakfast, he found he wasn't hungry. He was dressed for bed, but he didn't care. He was going to see Garth.

He rapped on the bedroom door, and Garth answered, giving him permission to enter. When he opened the door, he found Garth standing in front of the full-length mirror, inspecting his healing wounds. Reaver was pleased to see the stitches in his shoulder were gone.

Garth noticed. "The poor doctor was absolutely astounded." he said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "He checked and rechecked them to make sure he wasn't mistaken before he removed them. Perhaps you should have made a bet with him."

Reaver laughed, startled that the suggestion had come from Garth. "Perhaps I should have," he agreed. "Ten gold pieces that you would be pretty much healed by the night! The thought didn't occur to me at the time." He ventured a little closer, eyeing the cut. "It will scar."

"Yes, though that doesn't matter," Garth said flippantly.

"Your Will lines will make it pretty." Reaver grinned.

"Something like that, I suppose," Garth replied dryly. His eyes met Reaver's in the mirror and he grew still.

Reaver glanced him over - the way the light played off his muscles, the way the Will scars glowed - and stepped forward. His eyes still locked with Garth's in the mirror, he stood behind the Mage, and ran his hands gently over his biceps. He danced his fingertips over a particularly large Will scar, and it left them tingling curiously.

Garth let out a shuddering breath, but otherwise stayed silent. He flinched a little when Reaver made to remove his monocle, but Reaver stilled him with a kiss pressed to the back of his neck. He handed it to Garth and Garth placed it out of the way, where it wouldn't be broken.

Well, that was practically a green flag from Garth. Given the way he carried on about that eyeglass, it was almost a marriage proposal. Reaver tried not to laugh at the thought, and instead ran kisses down Garth's neck and across his shoulders to distract himself. Garth gasped at every touch, unfamiliar with the sensation.

"Have you ever been with a man?" Reaver murmured against his skin. He needed to know how to approach this.

"I… yes. One." Garth replied hesitantly, his voice barely a breath. "And that ended a long time ago."

Reaver suspected he knew who that man was, but didn't press the subject. Now was not the time to bring up a ghost like that. "And women?"

"Three."

"At once?"

"Of course not," Garth scoffed, his cheeks pink.

"How innocent," Reaver chuckled, with only the slightest hint of irony. Garth scowled and turned away, and Reaver quickly stilled him. "Don't be coy, Mage. I find it endearing!"

Garth laughed breathlessly, and Reaver felt a hand behind his head as Garth pulled him into a kiss. He ran a hand down Garth's torso, intent on discovering what made him tick. He pinched a nipple gently, and held back a scowl when Garth didn't react. He raked his fingernails across Garth's skin, and smirked in triumph when Garth's body shuddered, the Mage gasping into the kiss. He pulled away.

"I usually like to be taken," he said, and laughed when Garth looked surprised. "What? It feels good."

Garth's lips quirked. "You never fail to surprise me," he admitted. Reaver was touched by the sentiment, but didn't comment on it.

"As I was saying, I prefer to be taken, but I can make an exception in this instance." He smirked as he raked his fingernails down Garth's back, and Garth gasped. "Pay attention, Mage, so that you may switch places with me next time with confidence."

"Next time?" Garth echoed breathlessly, but Reaver silenced him with a kiss, devouring him with lusty hunger. He walked Garth backwards, tumbling with him onto the bed, mindful of Garth's still-healing injuries. He kissed and nipped at Garth's neck and torso, and soon Garth was writhing under him, and Reaver felt a thrill knowing that he had the world's most powerful mage under his control.

He tugged at the lacing on Garth's trousers and pulled them off in a swift movement, Garth lifting his hips to help. Reaver sat back on his heels and admired the naked Mage for a moment. Garth returned his gaze, eyes hooded with lust.

"I've never been with someone who glows in the dark before," Reaver remarked, smirking. Those Will scars were eerily beautiful in the dark.

Garth chuckled. "Then perhaps it's time to broaden your horizons, hmm?"

Reaver laughed at the suggestion and moved back down to kiss Garth. His hands grasped Garth's wrists and held them down, and it was then that Garth stilled.

Reaver had encountered this behaviour before. For whatever reason, his partner did not like to be held down. Reaver scowled, wondering if the Spire had played a part in it, wondering if any of the men he had killed last night had ever forcibly touched Garth.

Garth mistook Reaver's expression. "Apologies," he muttered, turning his head to the side.

"There's no need for that," Reaver replied distractedly. He pressed a kiss to Garth's jaw and climbed off him. "Wait here."

He stood and undressed slowly, making a show of it. Garth watched with obvious pleasure - _A voyeur, perhaps?_ Reaver mused as he sat down beside Garth and pulled the man into his lap. Garth blinked.

"What, you've never done it this way?" Reaver asked, grinning.

"No."

"Your previous partner was inadequate, then. Or perhaps you didn't partake in the pleasures of the carnal sort too much." Reaver began to stroke their lengths together and Garth gasped, his back arching and his fingers digging hard into Reaver's shoulders. Reaver moaned softly - he liked a bit of pain with his pleasure. Distractedly he reached over to the bedside table and fumbled about in the drawer, finally retrieving a condom and a small vial of lotion.

Garth stared at him. "You keep those on hand, do you?" he asked. Rather than sounding angry, he sounded faintly amused. Reaver took that as a good sign - the man understood him, at least a little.

"Short answer? Yes." Reaver grinned and opened the little packet carefully. "Long answer? You'll find them in every bedroom, in the bedside table. Judging by your surprise, I'm assuming you've never snooped through it. And, well… I _always _use protection. I'm not a disease-ridden wench."

"There's a surprise."

"Oh, you'll pay for that." Reaver knew Garth was only joking. He planted a kiss on Garth's mouth and held up the vial of lotion. "Shall we skip the formalities, then? Do you need preparing or not?"

Again, he was answered with a bemused stare. "You are a strange man." he said. "This time, yes. Next time, we use a potion as lubricant. It heals and relieves that initial pain."

Reaver blinked. In all his two and a half centuries of life, he had never thought of that. But he didn't comment on it as he coated his fingers in the lotion and pressed one carefully into Garth. Garth hissed in a breath but made no other signs of discomfort as Reaver added another finger, and then another, slowly stretching and preparing him.

It had been a while since he had been with a man, and it took him a few moments to find that sweet spot all men possessed. But when he did, Garth gasped and arched up against him. The sight made Reaver's breath hitch and his mind scream with want.

He couldn't wait any longer.

He pulled his fingers out and began to coat his member in the lotion. Garth watched him wantonly, cementing Reaver's suspicions that perhaps he _was _a bit of a voyeur. He would have to remember that for next time.

He lifted Garth up and onto him, pressing him down slowly, mindful of hurting him. Amusingly enough, Garth thought he was _too _slow, for he swatted Reaver's hands away and lowered himself onto Reaver at a steady pace.

"Impatient, are we?" Reaver breathed. Garth was so _tight…_

"You've no idea," Garth replied, sounding just as breathless.

They began to rock together, and for a while the only sounds were moans and uttered curses. Garth bit into Reaver's shoulder to silence himself, and Reaver shuddered, his body appreciating the bit of pain.

"Harder," Garth panted suddenly.

Reaver would have raised an eyebrow had the suggestion not totally distracted him. So the crazy bastard liked it a little rougher, did he? Well, Reaver was more than willing to oblige.

He slammed Garth's hips down, forcing a throaty moan out of the smaller man and spurring him on even more. He whispered an order to Garth to touch himself, and Garth did so as he buried his face in the crook of Reaver's neck.

Reaver let out a moan. He forced Garth to look back up and promptly slammed their lips together. The action pushed Garth over the edge. He cried out into Reaver's mouth as he climaxed, sending a thrill through Reaver's body as he clutched onto him.

Reaver choked out something incoherent as wave after wave of pleasure built up slowly, his climax seeming both far off and very near. Garth was smirking at him, moving his hips deliberately, and Reaver realised that that bastard Mage had done _something._

The dam broke, and all thoughts were washed from his head as he orgasmed, his entire body shuddering intensely as he sought to catch hold of something, anything. Garth kissed him again, and Reaver held him there until the strong pleasure subsided.

After a few long moments, Garth climbed off and sprawled out on the bed, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Reaver slumped down flat next to him, pausing only to take filled condom off carefully. He dropped in on the floor - it would be easy enough to clean up.

When he finally caught his breath, he turned on his side and stared at Garth. "What the hell was _that?_" he demanded.

Garth gave him an all too innocent look. "An orgasm, dear man. Has it really been that long?"

"I _know _what an orgasm is!" Reaver replied exasperatedly. "What I meant was, what did you _do_?"

"You didn't like it?" Garth was smirking now. Smug bastard.

"I… yes. Just tell me!" Reaver cursed himself. His charisma seemed to have already fallen asleep.

"If you must know," Garth replied, stifling a yawn. "I slowed down time." His eyes fluttered shut. He was ready for sleep.

Reaver scanned his body, to make sure their exertions hadn't reopened any of Garth's wounds. He looked all right, so Reaver rolled onto his back and shifted into a more comfortable position as a wave of lethargy overtook him. "So you're not against using your little powers in the bedroom?" he asked.

"No," Garth replied sleepily. Reaver smirked.

"We'll have to make good use of them, then."

"If you say so," Garth mumbled, and within moments they were both asleep.


	7. Trust

I must thank 'Awesomeness' for reviewing each chapter as I've posted it, without fail. I'm so very glad you're enjoying this, and I hope I haven't jinxed it now.

* * *

When Reaver woke the next morning, he was alone. He chuckled to himself - he'd experienced this behaviour before, and it didn't really surprise him that Garth had fled the bed. He dressed and went downstairs, trying to guess just how brightly Garth would blush upon seeing him.

The answer was _very._ He found Garth in the kitchen, fetching himself a drink of water, and the Mage nearly dropped the glass upon seeing him.

Reaver bit back his laughter. Garth would not appreciate such blatant mockery at this point. Instead, he nuzzled Garth's cheek and nipped his neck lightly, to see how he would react.

Garth did not pull away. A very good sign, as far as Reaver was concerned.

"What, don't I even get a kiss good morning?" Reaver teased lightly. Garth chuckled, and the maid - whom Reaver had ignored pointedly until now - stared at them openly.

"Sweet girl, be a dear and tidy up the sitting room. I believe I left some goblets in there by accident." Reaver said. He would have addressed her by name, but he couldn't remember it. Was it Abigail? Or perhaps Jessica? No, Jessica was the gardener's name. Wait, no it wasn't - the gardener was a man.

The maid muttered something and scurried out of the kitchen, forcing Reaver out of his thoughts. He grinned at Garth, who, despite having relaxed a little, was still blushing.

"I'll make this quick, so that we're not interrupted," he said, gesturing to the door pointedly. Garth nodded, looking interested.

"What happens next is entirely up to you," Reaver continued. "This can be a one-time thing, or we can caboodle again." _'Caboodle' _was a great word, he decided. He needed to use it more often. "However, it's up to you to make the next move. And while you can be a-_dorably _shy, you're no coward. I know you'll have no problem informing me of your decision." He smirked one last time before quitting the room, Garth's thoughtful gaze burning into him as he went.

That night, it was Garth who knocked on Reaver's bedroom door, and Reaver received him gladly.

**

Garth's spirits were high.

After the initial attack, no one had seen hide nor hair of the Spire Guards. Oakfield and its people were blessedly safe, at least for now. He was in such a good mood that he even accepted Hammer's invitation to join her at the Sandgoose for a drink. She looked tired, but it did little to deter her satisfied happiness.

"I guess Reaver scared them off!" she said triumphantly. "They've run off with their tails between their legs."

Sparrow's daughter was with them, nursing a tankard of gods-knew-what with disinterest. Garth had learned that she was fond of formalities, often addressing himself or Reaver as Master. She seemed relaxed around Hammer though, willingly addressing her by her name without looking uncomfortable.

"They could simply be regrouping," she reminded Hammer sharply.

"Killjoy," Hammer accused good-naturedly. "Ever heard of small victories, hmm?"

Garth chuckled. Hammer and Reaver had actually been working together over the past few weeks with little arguments. Had Garth not witnessed it, he would not have believed it. Small victories, indeed.

Thanks to Reaver's discretion, or lack thereof, on that first morning, the whole of Oakfield seemed to know about their relationship. His maid was apparently a gossip. On the whole Garth didn't mind - he saw no reason to keep it secret - but he was growing rather weary of the jealous glances, the curious stares, and that one indelicate woman who seemed set on having a threesome with him and Reaver. The first time she approached him, Garth had only been able to stare at her in shock until Hammer noticed his state and rescued him. Now, he ignored the woman entirely.

He was counting: 23 days since he and Reaver first had sex; 21 since Hammer had confronted him about it (oh, _that _had been fun); 17 since Reaver had first asked Garth to take control.

Hammer had stared at him, unblinking, the dark circles under her eyes adding an almost demonic depth to her gaze. It was the first time that Garth had been truly unnerved by her.

"Oh, come on, you're better than that." she said bluntly, at length. Garth cocked an eyebrow at her.

"And here I thought I had my own free will," he replied, just as blunt.

"Ooh pun, Mage! Pun!" Reaver called excitedly from _somewhere _in the background. Garth hadn't even known he was there.

How Reaver, centuries old, managed to have the libido of a teenage boy was beyond Garth. He liked sex, and he wasn't afraid to ask for what he wanted. Garth, who had grown up in a gypsy camp with an alcoholic father, had never heard such filthy language. But he was eager to please (_"A born cocksucker,"_ Reaver once said brazenly), and willing to try just about anything Reaver suggested.

He was not a naturally assertive man, so he had to force himself to dominate Reaver when the Thief first requested it. Garth felt awkward as he ordered Reaver about, but as the night went on Reaver became more vocal than usual. Regardless of whether it was because he truly did enjoy being dominated, or because he simply wanted to encourage Garth, Garth had grown more confident after that.

"How does it work, you and Reaver?" Hammer asked curiously. She'd had time to grow used to the idea, and even admitted begrudgingly that while she didn't particularly like it, it hadn't really surprised her.

"How does what work?" Garth asked, bewildered. Elisabeth froze, staring determinedly down into her drink, Hammer suddenly blushed bright red, and Garth unfortunately understood.

"You can't be serious," he muttered. He took a drink of water, for the first time understanding why some people were driven to drink.

"Well, you're both men!" Hammer exclaimed. "How do two men have sex?"

"Are we really having this conversation?" Garth asked disbelievingly. "Really?"

"Hammer." Elisabeth's thin lips were tweaking up into a smile. "It helps if one of the men bend over."

"But what does tha- oh good _gods_!" Hammer flushed even brighter as comprehension dawned on her, and Garth had to fight back laughter in spite of his embarrassment. "How do you know that? No, wait, don't answer that. As far as I know, you're Sparrow's sweet little princess with a love of porcelain dolls, got it? _Got it?_"

"Understood," Elisabeth replied, a faint tone of amusement in her voice.

"And _you,_" Hammer rounded on Garth. "I will never look at you the same way again!"

"I should hope not. The life of a monk is far too sheltered, it seems." Garth scoffed, and Elisabeth was actually _giggling,_ Hammer was stammering, and he wished Reaver was witnessing this moment with him. Garth would have to tell him later tonight.

Nothing had changed outside the bedroom, and for that Garth was grateful; he disliked obvious displays of affection, especially in public. But after sex was the time when they truly _talked_, and Garth was realising that Reaver often spoke about himself without saying anything at all. But he was slowly opening up to Garth during their private moments, and the closeness that Garth felt to him often inspired him to initiate a second round.

"Do you still sacrifice people's youth?" Garth had asked one night. His head was resting on Reaver's shoulder, and his arm was slung across Reaver's body; it was the one time he allowed himself to _cuddle._

"Of course. If I don't, I die." Reaver said simply. His unhesitant reply told Garth that he was open to answering questions about this topic, so Garth proceeded.

"How often do you need to do it?"

"Every five or so years. I know when a previous sacrifice has 'expired', shall we say, because wrinkles begin to slowly appear on my face. It is _most _unsightly." Reaver sighed.

Garth chuckled, even as he pondered. "Five years… so when do you next need to make the sacrifice?" he asked.

That gave Reaver pause. He frowned down at Garth. "Tell me, are you asking this because you're genuinely curious, or are you asking because you wish to save some nameless _innocent-_" his lips curled into a sneer at that word "-from the Shadow Court?"

Once, Garth knew he would have been offended by the apparent lack of trust from a bed partner. But such was Reaver's way; he was as distrustful as Garth, and liked his secrets as much as Garth liked his own.

"Genuinely curious," he confirmed simply. Reaver relaxed again.

"You should probably ask a cat what curiosity leads to, but if you must know, I sent someone off about a month before you arrived. The next appointment is a few years away now." He chuckled to himself. "It is truly _astounding _how many people willingly read aloud foreign words from an old book."

"Do you ever regret doing it?" Asking that question was a gamble, and Garth was fully prepared for Reaver's temper. Luckily, Reaver only smiled.

"Not anymore."

"He flirts with people, you know," Hammer said suddenly, watching Garth closely, pulling him from his thoughts. "Why do you let him get away with that?"

"It's his nature," Garth replied simply, and thought it was true, there was more to it than that. The first time he caught Reaver doing it _(15 days ago)_ he felt a little jealous, but he had told himself the same thing he just told Hammer. Besides, their relationship was hardly serious, and Garth was under no delusions that it would lead to something more - no matter how much he wanted it to. Sparrow had once accused him of being Reaver's new toy, and perhaps that was true, but Reaver treated him well enough that Garth knew he wouldn't be broken anytime soon.

But on that particular night, when Garth asked him why he had flirted in front of him, Reaver had sat back and _purred _that he needed to be punished.

Garth didn't mind it so much now.

Hammer changed the topic. "Sparrow's actually sending more men to help with the watch here," she said, and she sounded disbelieving. "He said he couldn't spare the guards before. What changed his mind?" she asked Elisabeth.

Elisabeth lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Master Reaver wrote to him," she said, and both girls looked expectantly at Garth.

Garth chuckled. He knew what Reaver had threatened, if Sparrow didn't concede; he was going to call his old crew - his old _pirate _crew - up from Bloodstone if Sparrow refused to send anymore guards. "_They _have a high-walled castle with few entrances to watch," he'd spat. "_We _have an entire bloody town."

Garth shook his head at the girls. Hammer scowled.

"Tell us, or I'll tell him you sneak out on patrols when he's in town meetings," she threatened.

Reaver's plans had made sense. "Let them bring the fight to us," he'd warned Garth. "Don't take yourself to them." But Garth couldn't sit by and do nothing.

"And what do you think he'll do to me if he does find out?" Garth challenged her. "Short of making me his prisoner, there's nothing he _can _do to stop me. He'll simply have a tantrum and sulk for a while afterwards."

"You say 'sulk', I say 'shoot some poor sod who looks at him funny'." Hammer retorted. She sighed, realising she wasn't going to get any answers from him. "In any case, Sparrow will be here next week with the extra help."

"He's coming too?" Garth asked, startled. Elisabeth suddenly smirked at him.

"He's bringing my brother to help us. Keiran is a year younger than I am." She took a small sip of her drink before she chuckled. "You should watch yourself, Master Garth. Keiran has quite the crush on your Reaver."

**

It was interesting to Garth to see how far he could push Reaver's patience.

He suspected that Reaver cared for him in his own twisted, megalomaniacal way, so he knew he could get away with a great deal more than most people. So when Elisabeth approached him in her free time and shyly requested that he tutor her in Will, he quickly decided that the best 'classroom' would be Reaver's own yard.

Though he had never taught it before, he could relay to her how he learned to harness Will, and control it. She seemed satisfied with that.

She knew a handful of spells, though none were particularly powerful. At best, she would be able to stun an enemy. But he told her that for an eighteen year old, her control of the Will _was _impressive. And while it was true, he had masterfully left out that he had been able to control Will at her level when he was ten. He had grown truly interested in Will at age nine, after all.

"The power must come from deep within you, at the very core of your being" he told her. He wasn't sure if he was explaining it too clearly, but she was listening attentively nonetheless. "At the moment, you harness only what is on the surface. Concentrate, look deep within yourself; you will find the power there."

"Can you show me?" she requested. "What you can do, I mean."

Garth frowned thoughtfully. At the very back of Reaver's yard stood a massive tree, so large that he doubted four men could link hands around it. He pointed it out to Elisabeth.

"Your father could damage that tree with his Will, but I doubt he could knock it over." he said, and she nodded. "What spell should I use?"

"Shock," she said quickly, and she flushed at her earnestness. "It was the first spell I learnt." she explained.

Garth nodded. To him, using Will was a second nature. Like he did with breathing, he barely gave it any thought. The bolts burst forth from his outstretched hands, surging up the tree and cracking its trunk. It fell with a deafening crash, smoking.

Elisabeth gaped at him. "I don't think I could ever do that," she muttered.

"Of course not. You are one of the rare Heroes that can harness all three abilities - Strength, Skill and Will. It comes from being a descendant of the old Archon," Garth explained, and Elisabeth gave him a startled look. "Your power is spread evenly across these specialties. The power it would take to control each of them as Hammer, Reaver and I do would overwhelm your body, ultimately destroying it."

She flushed. "I didn't know-"

"My _dear _Mage." Reaver was standing on the balcony that adjoined his bedroom. Garth could tell he had just woken up. "What the _hell_."

Garth smiled as innocently as he could. "I am tutoring Elisabeth in the ways of the Will," he explained simply.

"_No_, you're tutoring her in the ways of destroying my house," Reaver shot back irritably. He ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. "Make any other holes in my walls and I will order the workers to use _you _to patch them up."

"You think that would work?" Garth asked, holding back a smile.

"It might," Reaver replied flippantly. "And you would be a sight better than those ugly boards they used last time." Though they were only temporary, Reaver had objected loudly to the wooden boards placed across the hole in Garth's old room's wall. He sighed loudly. "Just keep it _down_, damn you." With that, he retreated back into his room.

Elisabeth was gaping at Garth, and when she spoke next she sounded all of her age.

"How come you haven't been shot yet?"

**

The only downside to his relationship with Reaver was that his nightmares about Lucien and the Spire happened more frequently. The closeness that Garth involuntarily felt to Reaver served as a trigger, reminding him far too vividly of his relationship with Lucien.

He would always be woken, without fail, by Reaver's firm grasp on his arm and his loud complaints about being unable to sleep with the Mage around.

It took Garth a moment to calm down, during which he battered Reaver's hand away as he struggled to remember where he was. Then he flushed brightly. "Sorry," he said quickly.

Reaver made an impatient noise as he climbed out of bed. "What did Lucien do to you?" he asked gruffly, before quickly adding, "That warrants keeping me awake all night, that is."

"'Tis your fault I'm in here," Garth pointed out, refusing to answer Reaver's question. In truth, his last encounter with Lucien had been the same as all the others, at least on the surface. It was _why _Lucien initiated that final time that haunted Garth; he had wanted to manipulate Garth, to twist his mind and use his feelings to bring him back over to Lucien's cause. With loving touches and heartfelt promises, Lucien had tempted him.

Perhaps what frightened Garth the most was that he had almost given in that day.

"I'm forcing you to be here, am I?" Reaver's tone was clipped; he was in no mood for jokes. He went over to the vanity and poured himself a glass of wine. Garth allowed it without comment; his subconscious was slowly starting to separate Reaver from the violent drunks he had known in his childhood.

"I'm sorry," Garth muttered, looking away.

"You say that so often, Mage, that it's starting to lose its meaning," Reaver replied bluntly. He sat on the end of the bed and took a sip of his wine. "So are you going to tell me? What he was to you, I mean. Your sobs leave little to the imagination but I find myself wanting to hear it from you when you're awake."

Garth wondered how his face could feel so hot when his body was covered in a cold sweat. "Whatever conclusions you've drawn are correct," he said shortly.

"A vapid answer," Reaver spat. "What does it matter if you loved a madman? You enjoy revelling in your grief-stricken guilt far too much to let it go, I think."

"Shut up," Garth replied hotly. Would that the Thief not be so clever! Of course, then Garth probably wouldn't have found himself so attracted to the man in the first place.

Reaver chuckled humourlessly and took another drink of his wine. The silence that followed was lengthy, and it pressed down on Garth as though it was trying to suffocate him. Reaver's expression was contemplative as he swirled his chalice around gently, watching the wine spin inside it.

"You know, Mage," he said finally, his soft voice breaking the silence as loudly as a gunshot. "I was married, once."

Garth stared at him for a long time, his heart skipping a beat at this unexpected and very private admission. "I have a hard time picturing that," he said finally.

"So do I, now." Reaver sounded faintly amused. "She was a pretty young farm girl, innocent as snow. Her name…" His brows furrowed together, and Garth had no doubt that he was struggling to recall even the simplest details about this woman.

"It was so long ago that it feels like a dream," Reaver said, still looking puzzled. "Imogen, I think. Yes, it was. Anyway, it ended in accordance with tradition, when her death parted us." He began to laugh, as though he had made a great joke. Garth could only stare at him with a mix of amazement and disbelief. The more Reaver revealed about himself, the less Garth seemed to know.

"Of course it goes without saying, Mage, that the number of people that have known about this during my lifetime can be counted on one hand." Reaver was deadly serious now. "All but one are dead, and that can easily be rectified if you tell _anyone _about this, understand?"

"O-of course," Garth replied, as dryly as he could manage. He forced himself to smile. "Do you trust me so little that you feel the need to threaten me every time you reveal something personal? Or do you just enjoy belittling me?"

Reaver sounded truly amused as he laughed. "_Trust _has nothing to do with my bone-deep habits, Mage." he said, and Garth felt a little better. "It's habit that drives me to reach for my pistol when I'm annoyed, habit that has me drink when I can't sleep. Do not think my threats have anything to do with _you_, Mage."

"You are terrible at comforting," Garth said, chuckling.

"Could that be why you're smiling, I wonder?" Reaver pointed out, grinning. "You should stop forcing yourself to smile, as you did before. I can tell the difference as easily as you can with me." He laughed again as Garth blushed and drained the last of his wine. "But enough of this talk. Sparrow and his little entourage arrive tomorrow and I'd rather not be half asleep around them. Why he even felt the need to accompany them is beyond me. Perhaps he seeks to knock me around a bit for my little threat?"

"I was told he was bringing his son," Garth said, and Reaver gave him a sharp look.

"The lad that fancies me?" he asked, and groaned when Garth nodded. He climbed back into bed and settled back into the pillows. "The boy is infuriating. And as much as I would love to see Sparrow's face if it were ever to happen, he is a child. I don't sleep with _children._"

"He's seventeen," Garth pointed out.

"A child," Reaver said firmly. "He should try again in ten or so years; he may have better luck then. Until then, he should learn that 'no' means 'get the fuck away from me'."

Garth could only laugh.

**

Keiran was the exact opposite of his sister. Extroverted and almost impudent, he looked exactly like his father, and yet they were nothing alike. Keiran smiled, he joked and mocked and he talked almost as much as Hammer did. His hair was dyed a flaming red and his skin was deeply tanned, his Will scars barely visible. When he was introduced, he stooped into a low bow, and Garth caught sight of the longsword and the crossbow strapped to his back. When he straightened, he was sneering.

Reaver chose that exact moment to fling an arm around Garth's shoulders and nip his ear playfully. Keiran's eyes narrowed, and Garth cursed Reaver's love of conflict.

"Away with you," Garth muttered, swatting Reaver's arm away. "Try to show _some _restraint."

"Restraint? Now there's an idea." Reaver chuckled depravedly but he left all the same, not bothering to spare Sparrow or his son even a glance. Keiran smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm going to go find Elisabeth," he said shortly, and with that he turned on his heel and all but stormed away.

Garth clenched his teeth. "I don't know why Reaver isn't interested in the boy," he growled, more to himself than to Sparrow. "Their maturity is about the same."

Sparrow was startled into laughter. "I saw Elisabeth on our way into town," he said, smiling softly. "You have an admirer, Garth."

"Brilliant. Really."

"Don't worry too much. Elisabeth is nothing like Keiran. I'll be interested to see if they get along here." Sparrow suddenly sobered and when he next spoke, his voice was barely more than a mumble. "Hammer told me in one of her letters, but I'd hoped she was exaggerating a rumour or something."

Garth frowned. "Is it any of your business?" he asked tersely. Sparrow sighed.

"Please, walk with me. I want to talk about him."

"Is that really necessary?"

"Humour me."

Begrudgingly, Garth accompanied Sparrow to the coastline, curious about what he had to say regardless of his annoyance. It was only when they were far out of anyone's earshot that Sparrow spoke.

"You know, when I met him, I thought he was a pompous hedonist, but harmless enough." he said softly. He was staring out across the ocean, as though lost in the memory. "After meeting you and Hammer, _he _was the last thing I expected in a Hero. He startled me so much that I could only think to burp when he propositioned me."

"So I've heard," Garth said, wondering where Sparrow was going with this. If he had dragged Garth to the beach to reiterate his 'Reaver is a bad man, get away from him' point, he was going to be disappointed.

"I thought he was a bloody joke," Sparrow continued bluntly, a wry smile on his face now. "Of course, it was all an act on his part. I quickly learned that he could be just as dangerous as Lucien."

"You exaggerate," Garth snapped, refusing to even consider the comparison.

"I do not. It's why I've kept him on such a tight leash."

"Reaver has no interest in controlling the _world,_ Sparrow."

Sparrow gave him a frustrated look. "Their ends are different, but their means are the same. They both ruined countless lives in order to reach their goals. The only thing that sets them apart is that Reaver actually achieved his."

Garth felt his temper flaring, but kept it under control as best he could. Lashing out would do nothing to resolve the situation. "Tell me, Sparrow; while I understand _why,_ I've no idea _how _you got him to agree to help Oakfield. What did you do?" he asked, genuinely curious. Reaver had been so tight-lipped about it.

Sparrow's expression was closed, and he was silent for a long time. Garth waited as patiently as he could.

"I'm not proud of it, I suppose," Sparrow said finally. "I knew I'd won when I brought up Wraithmarsh, but he'd looked so _hurt._ I think I may have even crushed him when I kept pushing the issue-"

"What are you talking about?" Garth interrupted.

Sparrow heaved an exasperated sigh. "Bloody hell, Garth. You're smart, but you're just _refusing _to figure it out! You've let your fondness of him blind you!"

"What - are - you - talking - about?" Garth repeated, slowly this time and through clenched teeth. Sparrow looked equally irritated.

"Oakvale!" he all but yelled. It was frightening to hear his normally soft voice so loud. "He destroyed it when he made his deal with the Shadow Court for immortality!"

His words rang in Garth's ears and it took him a moment to process the statement's meaning. For his immortality, Reaver had murdered everyone he loved. Garth stared at Sparrow, suddenly feeling ill. He remembered Reaver's wife, how he had _laughed_ when he spoke about her death. How Reaver had forbidden him to ask any questions concerning his life before he became a pirate.

"If it makes you feel any better, he didn't know Oakvale would be massacred," Sparrow said quickly, and Garth realised his anguish must be very visible on his face. "He even has nightmares about it. His grief from it has pretty much numbed him to everything else. It's why he doesn't care who he hurts anymore, I think."

It made sense, but Garth didn't care. He had watched bandits murder his entire family and friends when he was thirteen; that Reaver could willingly give up the lives of his family and friends for immortality boiled his blood.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Sparrow sound, and he actually sounded _alarmed._ "I'm sorry. I guess sometimes ignorance truly is bliss."

"Indeed," Garth spat savagely. He knew all too well that Reaver was nowhere near an altruist, but _this…_ this was sick.

Something was pushed into his hands. Garth blinked down at it; a small, maroon book.

"Reaver's diary," Sparrow murmured. "I recovered it in his Bloodstone manor."

Garth stared down at it, repulsed. He didn't want to hear anymore. He turned on his heel to make his way back home, intent on locking himself in his study for the rest of the day.

"You're not in love with him, are you?" Sparrow asked suddenly. His tone was reproachful, further fuelling Garth's rage. He stopped and looked Sparrow in the eye, intent on hurting him as much as possible.

"You've no right to judge," he said coldly. "Not when you've remained with one woman, even though you love another."

Sparrow's shocked, grief-stricken face sent cold shivers of satisfaction through Garth.


	8. The First Cut is Always the Deepest

By the time Garth emerged from his study, night had fallen and his anger had simmered down. Now he was left with a dizzying nausea in the pit of his stomach that grew stronger every time he thought of his conversation with Sparrow.

He didn't know why he was sickened anymore. At first he'd thought it was because of Reaver and Oakvale, but now he'd had time to think on it. Sparrow had been very quick to add that Reaver hadn't known that it would happen. Garth had woken a handful of times to find Reaver unnaturally still in the bed beside him, brow furrowed and jaw clenched. It only ever took a light touch from Garth to wake him, and then he would never say what was bothering him. Garth knew now.

Perhaps what was making the bile rise in Garth's mouth was how and whySparrow had chosen to tell him about it. It was as though Sparrow had kept the information as a trump card, in case he ever needed to turn Garth against Reaver. Well, it hadn't worked. It would never work. Garth refused to give Sparrow that satisfaction.

_You're not in love with him, are you?_

Garth wasn't sure. Regardless, it was none of Sparrow's business. He was sick of the nastiness that existed between his three fellow Heroes. Once he sorted out his feelings for Reaver, he would keep them to himself.

He found Reaver in the sitting room, blissfully unaware of Garth's newly acquired knowledge. Garth had resolved to ask him about it, to see how Reaver would react, but the Thief looked so relaxed that Garth almost hated to disturb him. Reaver rarely ever truly relaxed.

"I was beginning to wonder if you had died down there," Reaver commented, stretching in his seat languidly. Garth sat in the armchair across from him and shook his head.

"Hardly. I had an interesting conversation with Sparrow today. It's left me feeling ill."

"Is that so?" Reaver raised an eyebrow and straightened in his seat; a sure sign he was anxious. He trusted Sparrow so little that Garth wasn't surprised by the reaction. "Well, talking to Sparrow does tend to nauseate me, too. What did he have to say for himself?"

"He told me about Oakvale." Garth said it quickly, before he lost his boldness.

Reaver's shoulders tensed, but he otherwise showed no reaction. "He did, did he? And that's made you feel ill?" he said calmly, though there was a faint note of anxiety in his voice.

"Yes, though it's not what you think," Garth replied truthfully. "Actually, I'm not sure myself."

"Then I must have imagined that look of contempt you gave me before." Reaver said plainly, and Garth blinked. "Why are you surprised? You must have been angry when you found out. Angry, or shocked, or whatever, I don't know. I've seen an array of reactions over the years."

"Others have found out?" Garth asked, surprised.

"A handful or two. The only difference between you and them is that I haven't shot you yet. Well, you and Sparrow, anyway." Reaver looked past Garth and into space now, his lips curling into a snarl. "Though I'm considering rectifying the latter." He stood, his hand curling around his pistol.

"Settle down." Garth stood up too, keeping his voice calm in spite of his alarm. "Sparrow will kill you."

"Only if I don't get him first. I'm quicker on the draw, after all."

"And that will save you from his Will?"

Reaver growled but said nothing. Garth dared to push further.

"And why Sparrow and not I, as well? I know about it now, too." he asked softly. Reaver blinked down at him, looking genuinely surprised.

"Why would I shoot you?" he asked blankly, his angry expression vanishing as he considered Garth. "I hate Sparrow. I don't hate you."

The statement, and the affection with which it was said, was so unexpected that Garth could only stare at him, his cheeks feeling as though they were on fire. Reaver considered him for a moment longer, before a look of understanding dawned on his face. He chuckled mirthlessly.

"Ah, I see now." he said cryptically. "You should know better than to look at me like that, Mage."

"Like what?" Garth asked, puzzled. Reaver ignored him.

"Did you get what you came for?" he asked instead, his voice void of emotion.

Frustration rose up inside of Garth, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to sock Reaver in the jaw. Instead he kept his cool, reminding himself that he knew what Reaver was like, expressing thoughts that went unfinished and beginning conversations that seemed to have no link to the previous one. So Garth chose to ignore Reaver's strange actions, at least for the moment, and instead linked his last question to their discussion.

"I don't know." he admitted plainly. He maintained eye contact evenly, the question he so wanted to ask on the lip of his tongue. He knew this would invoke Reaver's temper. "Do you care about what you did?"

Reaver's eyes narrowed and he took a step back - not a good sign. When he gaze went from Garth to the roof permanently, Garth knew he had lost.

"It was a long time ago," Reaver replied snappishly. He tossed his head, his air of dignified self-importance returning to him as he frowned distastefully, like he was talking to some beggar off the street. It was an act, this aura of belittlement, to keep others from prying into his life too closely. It was Reaver's own invisible wall.

"The place is long gone," Reaver added shortly. "It hardly matters anymore."

"It that what you really think?" Garth was sick of tiptoeing around Reaver's temper. He wanted Reaver to admit, just once, that it still bothered him. But, judging by the way Reaver clenched his jaw and the way his hand moved subconsciously to his gun, it wasn't going to happen tonight.

"It is." Reaver's tone was biting, he had never sounded so angry. Garth forced himself to smile and point to where Reaver's fingers were curled around his gun. Reaver glanced down, surprise flashing across his handsome features.

"Perhaps you do want to kill me after all," Garth said quietly, and without waiting for an answer he turned on his heel and quickly made his way to the front door, suddenly craving some fresh air and open space. After a moment, he heard Reaver's angry shout.

"I am _not _done with you, Mage!"

Garth had no idea where he was going, only that he wanted to get away from the charming scoundrel that was tailing him. Grateful for the cool night air, he rounded the house and made his way to the back of the yard, near to where the tree he had destroyed with Elisabeth once resided. Only then did Reaver catch up with him.

He seized Garth by the arms and spun him around so that they were face-to-face. "_I _decide when we're done," he growled. He clutched Garth's shoulders to prevent him from running off again. Garth scowled.

"Don't throw a tantrum because you're not getting your own way." he said coldly. He knew he should consider himself lucky; usually, when Reaver lost his temper, people died. But he certainly didn't feel lucky. "Now leave me alone."

"You mock my maturity and then you go and say something like that?" Reaver's fingers dug into his shoulders. "Hypocrisy, Mage. Learn the meaning."

Garth held back a hiss of pain and Reaver's fingers bruised him. "I know the meaning. Not nearly as well as you do, of course."

"You are quickly rising to the top of my 'fire gun at repeatedly' list." Reaver snapped, and Garth very nearly laughed. He didn't put it past Reaver to have actually compiled a list like that. He imagined Reaver sitting at his desk, placing every one he knew under one of three categories-

"Now you're smiling?" Reaver looked completely bewildered. "I will _never_ understand you, Mage. You're worse than most women. But humour me for a moment, and think about this-" He leaned in close, so that their noses were almost touching. "If I hadn't made that little deal with the Shadow Court, I wouldn't be here today. You would still be in Lucien's hands, and the whole blasted world would be shot to shit."

_Shot to shit. _Garth blinked. So Reaver's anger was, at least in part, born of frustration. That was when he swore the most, after all.

"So think about that," Reaver continued. "And let me know your conclusions, hmm?"

Put that way, it did seem like a small sacrifice: one town for the entire world. Garth sighed heavily. He'd had enough of this whole thing.

"I will," he promised with a growl. "If you would just leave me alone for five minutes."

"Oh, we're back to this, are we?" Reaver scoffed. "No, Mage, I won't. You kept pushing even though you knew I wanted you to stop, so why should I back off now?" Garth had forgotten how petty he could be. "Tell me, what on earth were you hoping to achieve by confronting me about this?"

"I was hoping," Garth growled, finally losing his temper, "that I would stop wishing I had stayed in Samarkand. Now _get off me_!" With a growl, he threw Reaver off him with a Force Push spell. Reaver stumbled backwards - straight into the hands of a Spire Soldier.

Garth froze, fighting down the disgusting taste rising in his mouth as Reaver's hands were wrenched behind his back and a blade was pressed to his throat. The Soldier turned its demonic eyes to Garth. With Reaver in its vice grip, Garth couldn't risk attacking it. It clearly knew that.

"Where-" Garth stopped mid question and turned his attention skyward. High above their heads floated a Shard, a dark silhouette against the clear night sky. Garth stared at it in dull horror. He had thought that their ability to control Shards had died with Lucien. He hoped reverently that Reaver wouldn't pay for his mistake.

"Do you _mind?_ We are trying to have an argument. Eavesdropper." Miraculously, Reaver was managing to look bored. He glanced over his shoulder at his captor and huffed indignantly. "Sneaking up on us when we're absorbed in each other - not very sporting of you, I must say. At least you didn't interrupt one of our more intimate moments, I suppose. That would have been awkward."

Well, Reaver was keeping his cool easily enough. Garth decided to try and follow his lead. "So is the conversation over now?" he asked shakily, giving Reaver a weak grin.

"On hiatus, I think." Reaver replied casually. The blade was pressed harder against his neck. "That hurts, you know." he complained loudly.

"You are coming with me," the Soldier said to Garth, ignoring its captive completely. Its inhuman voice sent shivers down Garth's spine. "Or I will take him, and return him to you in pieces."

"Oh, can my nose be the first piece?" Reaver chipped in, sounding completely at ease. "You smell awful."

_Reaver, there is a time and a place to be a smart arse, and this isn't it._ Garth thought furiously. He could remember the Soldier's tolerance - or lack thereof - of rudeness. Reaver was making things worse.

"Need I cut out his tongue here as incentive?" the Soldier said impatiently. "Choose!"

Garth eyed the blade at Reaver's neck. It had already broken a layer of skin; little droplets of blood were running down his neck. Garth couldn't attack without it slitting Reaver's throat first. He couldn't let them take Reaver. But he knew he couldn't face being a captive of the Spire Guards again. It was bad enough last time, who knew what they were planning to do to him now in the name of their fallen master?

"Don't be ridiculous," Reaver said lightly to the Soldier. "The Mage is far too intelligent to respond to blackmail like that." He shot Garth an emphatic look to drive his hidden warning home, and just like that, Garth knew. He was in love with the Thief.

He shook his head, trembling. What a poor time to realise this. It was as twisted as their relationship itself. He met the Soldier's gaze evenly.

"You're after me, whether you get me now or later." he said calmly. "So, let's just cut out the middle man, shall we? I'll go with you now." He took a step forward.

"Good." the Soldier sounded satisfied. Reaver blinked at Garth once before sagging forward in its grasp.

"You are such a foolish man, Garth." he said quietly, and Garth's heart twisted. "I suppose we work well together." With that, he threw his head back. It connected with the Soldier's with a loud _crack._

The Soldier grunted in pain, stumbling backwards, its grasp on Reaver loosening. In an instant Reaver had drawn his pistol and reeled around, shooting it in between the eyes.

"Get the bloody thing, you fool!" he shot at Garth, gesturing upwards with his gun. His eyes were unfocused; head butting the Soldier had dazed him. "Like you did last time!"

Garth summoned his resolve and used the most powerful Lightning spell he knew. He had to destroy the Shard quickly, before it sent more Guards. His body was straining with the effort when the Shard opened, revealing its core.

Reaver fired at it furiously, but when a group of Spire Guards materialised in front of them, he was forced to turn his attention elsewhere. "Stupid blighters," he spat furiously. "There is no end to these so-called men, is there?"

Would Reaver be able to hold them all off on his own? Garth doubted it. Reaver stood very close to Garth as he picked them off, one by one. But where one fell, two would take its place, and they were closing in on the two Heroes, fast.

"Feel free to destroy the glorified pebble at any moment," Reaver muttered to Garth.

"I'm trying!" Garth replied desperately. His body was screaming its protests now, he wasn't sure how long he could keep this up. They were in trouble.

"Garth!"

Garth had never been happier to hear Hammer's voice. He didn't dare chance a look over his shoulder, but he grinned with savage relief as Hammer roared "_Charge!_"

Monks and Albion Guards alike surged past Garth and clashed with the Spire Guards. He could hear Reaver and Hammer shouting impatiently at each other even as they fought on the same side. From the corner of his eye he saw Keiran, grinning viciously as he waved his sword about like a madman, cutting the Spire Guards down with no clear technique. Someone stepped into place beside him and he recognised Elisabeth's normally soft voice, shouting over the noise.

"I'll help you." She used her Shock spell on the Shard. Keiran noticed what she was doing and bent over, firing his own Shock spell from in between his legs.

"Suck on it!" he yelled triumphantly when it connected, and Garth heard Reaver's disapproving scoff from somewhere to the left of him.

"Children these days. How vulgar!"

A thin beam of light began to rise slowly from the Shard's centre. It grew larger and larger, until-

"Shit, it's firing!" Garth realised, just as Hammer shouted "Get out of the way!"

Garth seized Elisabeth and pulled her back quickly, trying to get her out of harm's way. She stumbled, looking confused, and then the world exploded with light as the attack connected with the earth. Garth was thrown off his feet and the wind knocked out of him as the attack drowned out the terrified screams of his allies.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Garth jumped to his feet, ready to attack again even as he struggled to draw breath. But all he saw were Oakfield's fighters, some injured, some in the same state as he was, sprawled out across the ruined lawn. The only Spire Guards in sight were dead. The Shard had vanished.

Something was wrong here. Garth couldn't shake off the sense of foreboding. There was a soft groan behind him, and he quickly hurried over to Elisabeth's side as she struggled to sit up.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I… Yes. I'm winded and I think my wrist is sprained, but I'll be fine." she replied breathlessly. Garth helped her to her feet. "Is it over?"

"I don't know," Garth replied cautiously. "Be on your guard." He quickly spotted Hammer climbing to her feet, and he wound his way through the others carefully to her. Many of them were injured, and some were critical from the Shard's last attack. But the fight did seem to be over.

"What the hell just happened?" Hammer groaned. "They come, they blow us up, and they run off? I don't mind telling you, I'm a bit confused here." She scanned the area, eyes narrowed. "Move the injured into Reaver's place and call the doctors." she ordered loudly. All those still able-bodied moved slowly to do as she said.

Elisabeth uttered a small cry, and Garth turned around to see her hurrying over to her brother's side. Keiran seemed to be having difficulty moving. She gingerly shifted him onto his back. He grinned weakly.

"Fuckin' thing got me." he said. "Chuck a couple of stitches in my side and I'll be right. Coupla wenches wouldn't go amiss either."

Elisabeth made a strangled noise, caught between a laugh and a sob, and she helped Keiran sit up. He looked around at the site.

"Damn," he muttered. He looked up at Garth and held his gaze. "Where's Reaver, Garth?" he asked pointedly, his voice ragged.

His question sent a chill down Garth's spine. Hammer, who had been comforting an injured monk, gave him an alarmed look.

"He didn't object when I said to use his house," she muttered uneasily. "You don't think-"

"Shit." Garth searched through the bodies, alive and dead, frantically, but there was no sign of Reaver. He was gone. "They took him. They said they would." An overwhelming wave of guilt washed over him, and he fought down panic for Reaver's safety.

"Aren't you meant to look after him?" Keiran asked sharply.

"Keiran!" Elisabeth tried to shush her brother.

"Well, ain't he? It's him they want anyway." Keiran scowled deeply. "So why doesn't he fuck off somewhere? Leave Reaver outta this?"

"They want Father too, you sod. Should he 'fuck off somewhere' as well?" Elisabeth hissed. "Master Garth isn't Master Reaver's keeper."

"Listen to you! _'Master'_. You fucking-"

"Be quiet, the both of you." Garth snapped. He didn't need to listen to a sibling quarrel, and he certainly didn't need to be guilt-tripped by a self-righteous adolescent. The siblings fell quiet, surprised by his outburst. He turned back to Hammer.

"So, tell me," Hammer muttered. She looked stressed, accentuating the lines on her comely face. "They attack you two. We arrive. The Shard blows us all up. They nab Reaver in the confusion. Have I got that right?"

"Just about," Garth replied dryly. If they were treating Reaver even half as badly as they had treated Garth, he would murder them all. Slowly. Provided Reaver didn't get to them first, of course. He wondered if Reaver was worried, or whether he was simply planning the way he would butcher his captives before returning home. The latter seemed more likely. Danger tended not to faze Reaver.

"So why not grab you?" Hammer asked shortly. Garth rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

"You said it yourself; they got him in the confusion. They were in a hurry, and they must have found Reaver first." He sighed heavily. "They could have waited until the Shard attacked again, I suppose. But it takes time for the Shard to build up enough energy to attack like that. Time they didn't have, because I was trying to destroy it."

Hammer hesitated for a moment, then awkwardly reached out and squeezed Garth's shoulder. "It's not your fault." she said quietly, and smiled. "No matter what Sparrow's brat says."

"I'm right here, Hammer-face!" Keiran protested, though he sounded amused. Garth chuckled in spite of himself.

A terrified scream split the air. Weapons were instantly drawn and the severely injured carried roughly to safety. But it was a monk that had made the sound. She was pointing at the ground, her hand shaking, her other hand over her mouth. Hammer frowned and went over to her.

"What are you-"

"That mask!" the monk cried hysterically. "Look what it is!"

Curiosity turned to panic as Oakfield natives scrambled to have a look at the object. Frightened sobs and alarmed shouts permeated the air, and above them Hammer's annoyed voice rose.

"For crying out loud, you're not a bunch of bloody damsels!" She picked up the object in question and glared around. "I know you're disturbed, but I've taught you better than this." The panic died down slowly, and Hammer held the object out for Garth to see.

Garth blinked at it. It was just a red mask, with jagged edges and narrow slits for eyes. The only remarkable thing about it was the gigantic hooked nose. It was ugly, but… He looked at Hammer questioningly.

"Ah, right. You wouldn't know it." she realised apologetically. "It's an old Temple of Shadows mask. What's it doing here?"

Garth forced himself not to look at it; he couldn't quite get over how repulsive it was. Apparently worshipping the Shadows required one to be as ugly as sin.

He paused, realising how very _Reaver _he was being. The man was such an influence that his name was now also a verb. Garth couldn't think of any other way to describe it.

But back to the task at hand. "Sparrow butchered every Temple of Shadows follower upon his return from the Spire," he said to Hammer, who nodded impatiently. "You have three guesses what that mask being here means."

Hammer frowned thoughtfully. She looked at Keiran, who shrugged, and then at Elisabeth. The girl gnawed her lip.

"The place is abandoned, Hammer," she said softly. Hammer's eyes widened and she looked wildly at Garth.

"So they're _there _now?" she exclaimed. "Of course! Why didn't we bloody think of that in the first place? Even bandits stay away from that place, so no one would've noticed them!"

Garth nodded, and she snarled and flung the mask to the ground in disgust. "They leave this here as a clue, and take Reaver as bait? They can't honestly be expecting you to take it!" She caught sight of Garth's expression, and faltered. "Oh, no. You can't honestly be planning to take it!"

"I'm not leaving him there." Garth said shortly. "They said they would send him back to me in pieces. I've no doubt that they will actually do it if I take too long getting there."

"Would you like me to wrap you up in a pretty red ribbon for them, too?" Hammer snapped. "You're being completely mental. I seriously don't get you sometimes."

"So you _do _expect me to leave him there?" Garth asked quietly. Hammer sighed heavily.

"Once, I would have. Now? No. And that's what I don't get." She tugged on the ends of her dreadlocks absently, the way she always did when she was worried. "Well, there's no way in hell I'm letting you go there by yourself. Two hands are better than one, right?" She flashed a grin, one that Garth couldn't help but return.

"Thank you, Hammer."

"Aunty Hammer," Keiran interrupted suddenly. Hammer actually _twitched._

"Don't _call _me that, you little hell raiser! You know it makes me feel _so_ old!"

"Yeah, I do know, don't I," Keiran replied absently. "But anyway, isn't this old Temple in Rookridge? Dad would've passed it on his way home this afternoon."

"What if they got him?" Elisabeth gasped. "They could kill him!" Keiran gave her an alarmed look.

"Calm down," Hammer said patiently. "If your father _is_ there, then he'll just be another pair of hands to help us escape. He's been in tighter spots before, you know."

"It's true!" Keiran actually smiled up at his sister and patted her leg comfortingly. "And he lives with Mum and survives, after all. Nothing's tougher than that. He'll be all right, Lis."

Elisabeth relaxed slightly, and nodded.

"Good. Now help me inside, I think my legs have been turned into jelly." Keiran ordered. He looked pale, Garth suddenly noticed. "Garth-face, off with you. Go save your butt-buddy!"

"_Garth-face?_" Garth echoed, bewildered. "Butt… _what?_"

"Ignore him, he calls everyone 'face'." Elisabeth said apologetically, her cheeks pink.

"Shut up, girl-face."

"Gimmie half an hour to sort this shit out a little," Hammer said to Garth diffidently. Garth nodded, knowing it was needed. "We can be off then."

**

"How do you think he's handling it?" Hammer asked quietly.

Rookridge was a thirteen hour journey on foot from Oakfield. Garth and Hammer had quickly decided that taking a carriage would draw attention, and needlessly endanger the driver. They were exhausted and they jumped at every shadow, but they didn't light a torch. The night cloaked them as much as it cloaked enemies.

Hammer had left Elisabeth in charge. Garth had his doubts as to whether a girl her age could handle that responsibility, but he kept them to himself and trusted in Hammer's judgement. Arguing about it would have prolonged their departure.

"Honestly? I doubt he's too worried." Garth replied, with more confidence than he felt. "I don't think he's scared of anything."

"Nah, I guess you're right." Hammer said. "He's a cocky one, that Reaver. But you're worried, aren't you." It was a statement, not a question, and when Garth didn't answer, she clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. "He's two hundred years old, Garth. He won't be easy to break after that long."

"Almost 250," Garth corrected automatically.

"What?" Hammer blinked.

Garth flushed, realising what he had said. "He's far closer to 250 years," he muttered. Hammer looked taken aback for a moment longer, then to Garth's surprise, she giggled.

"That's actually kind of cute." she said. Garth stared at her blankly, but she didn't elaborate further.

Dawn approached and passed, and Garth estimated that they would reach Rookridge by midday. Something about the sunrise soothed him, made him realise that the Spire Guards wouldn't kill Reaver until they had dealt with Garth. If they used Reaver as a human shield, Garth would hold back for fear of hurting him. If he was dead, Garth would unleash his full power. It was as simple as that.

Hammer grew more and more nervous as they neared the old Temple of Shadows, Garth could tell; she was getting chattier. She would comment on anything, from rock formations to her hair, and though Garth was annoyed, he let her. It was her way of coping, after all.

"How come you're always wearing that thing, anyway?" Hammer asked, pointing to his monocle. "I've never seen you without it."

Garth realised she was right. He had obtained it shortly after he returned from the Spire, and more recently, Reaver had disallowed anyone from entering his room, which was when he would have it off. Unless Sparrow had told her, Hammer wouldn't know…

"I'm blind in that eye." he replied shortly.

"Ah." Hammer wrung her hands, looking awkward. "Were you born like that, or-"

"No. It was the result of an… accident."

"Oh, okay. For what it's worth, I'm sorry." And with that, Garth realised he was incredibly grateful for her company.

The vast bridge that led to the former Temple of Shadows was empty, with no sign of life anywhere. The enormous wrought iron gates were closed, preventing entrance. Garth and Hammer hid behind one of Rookridge's many rock formations, eyeing it tentatively.

"Why aren't they guarding the gate?" Hammer whispered anxiously. Garth shook his head.

"They are, they're just out of sight." he replied. The walls that surrounded the Temple were enormous, it was unlikely that anyone would be able to scale them. The Guards needed to concern themselves with the gates, and that was it.

"Then they could already know we're here!" Hammer hissed, unconsciously touching the handle of her warhammer.

"No. They would have attacked already if they did." Garth massaged his forehead, willing his tiredness to go away. "I am what they want, and they seem to be growing more and more desperate. They would not risk losing me."

"You're sure about that?" Hammer sounded doubtful. Garth smiled grimly.

"I know how they think."

"They took you by surprise back home." Hammer pointed out.

"I didn't think they could still control Shards," Garth admitted, feeling his frustration with himself rise again. "I won't make another mistake like that."

"If you're sure," Hammer muttered, and Garth found he couldn't fault her for her doubt. She peered around the rock again and bit her lip. "So… how do we get inside?" she asked.

Garth had been thinking about this. His plan was risky, but he was sure it would work. He scanned Hammer over once, to strengthen his resolve.

Hammer noticed his attention and flushed. "Yeah, no. Quit it." she hissed.

Garth chuckled in spite of himself. "You misunderstand me," he said quickly. "You could pass off as a Spire Guard, possibly."

Hammer blinked. She looked from Garth, to the building, then back to Garth, and frowned. "That's your plan, is it?" she said, catching on. "I probably could, but I don't have a uniform."

"No matter. That can easily be amended." Garth replied, and before Hammer could stop him he lobbed a Fireball along the bridge. It crashed into the doors with a bang.

"Now, we wait." he said simply. Hammer stared at him, mouth agape.

"I could really kill you right now, you know. Oh bugger! They're coming now!"

"Come back further behind the rock." Garth hissed and tugged her backwards. "How many are there?"

"Half a dozen, I think. Here we go again!" Hammer hauled her giant weapon from its sling.

The were only five Guards, it turned out. The rounded the rock, weapons raised, and paused momentarily when they saw Hammer, eyes widened. Garth grinned, knowing that they hadn't expected her to be there too. The pause was short, but it was enough time to give Hammer the chance to stun them with her warhammer. Garth summoned his Blades and skewered them, and they fell one by one with a muffled grunt.

"Well, that was quick." Hammer said, taken aback. She grinned at Garth triumphantly. "You knew that would happen, you old bastard! So now what?"

Garth chuckled at her accusation before measuring each Guard up. He pointed out the largest one. "Take that uniform." he instructed.

Hammer gave him a wild look before shifting on the spot. "Could… I can't." she admitted hesitantly. "I don't… It's still a dead man."

Garth stared at her. "These ghouls gave up their right to be called 'men'," he spat venomously, and cursed himself when she flinched.

"I'm sorry, I just…" she bit her lip. Garth had never seen her look so vulnerable. He held up his hand, silencing her.

"I'll get it off for you." he said. He had no qualms with looting a dead Guard's body and, as it turned out, Hammer had none with changing right there in front of him. The uniform didn't fit all that well, but it was enough.

"My hair doesn't fit under the mask," she muttered fearfully. Garth shook his head.

"Don't worry. They won't notice if they don't look for it." he said, and grinned. "Unless you're prepared to shave it all off."

"Shut it." Hammer scowled. "I'd forgotten how much you annoyed me."

Garth chuckled and using the smallest Flame spell he could, he slowly burnt a hole through the collar around the dead Guard's neck. He placed it around Hammer's and fastened it securely, so that it wouldn't fall off or look amiss. He stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"So do you reckon I could make a career out of this?" Hammer joked weakly. "Oh god, Garth, I'm wearing a dead man's clothing."

"It's all right," Garth soothed awkwardly. "As for the career… You probably shouldn't quit your day job, just in case." Hammer laughed softly, relaxing a little. "Now, here's what you need to do…"

When they approached the gates, Hammer was all but dragging Garth with her. She held his hands behind his back and he sagged in her grasp, as though he was injured. As the gates opened, he heard Hammer take a shuddering breath to steel herself. They entered what turned out to be a courtyard, where a dozen or so Guards stood watch. Garth chanced a glance around - he hadn't known the Temple of Shadows was underground, though it made sense.

One of the Guards stepped forward, his eyes gleaming cruelly as he sneered at Garth. "He came runnin' for 'is friend quick. Even quicker than Sparrow's been." it commented. Hammer only nodded, and Garth looked up at the Guard with genuine hatred. It scoffed.

"Where's the others?" it asked shortly.

"Dead," Hammer grunted, and Garth marvelled at how well she was able to disguise her voice. The mask probably helped. "Bodies fell down the cliff."

"I see." the Guard said, and without warning he delivered a swift blow to Garth's stomach. Garth cried out in pain and went limp in Hammer's grasp, gasping desperately for air. Hammer was able to remain blessedly silent, though Garth felt her grip on him tighten.

The Guard wrenched Garth's head back by his hair, and sneered down at him. "Not so tough now, are ya?" it mocked. "Be grateful we were kind enough to let yer friend live to see ya one last time."

"You're sick, mindless freaks," Garth hissed breathlessly. He tasted blood as the Guard backhanded him, and he reminded himself that sometimes, he just needed to shut the fuck up.

"Take 'im down the back," the Guard ordered gruffly, and Hammer carried him down the steps and into the former Temple of Shadows.

There was no one in sight at the underground entrance, and so Hammer placed Garth down gently and pulled the mask down from her mouth. Garth sank to his knees, gasping for breath and spitting out blood.

"Garth, I'm so sorry," Hammer was whispering. She knelt down beside him, looking distraught. "He moved too quick! I would've stopped him if I'd known-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Hammer. It wasn't your fault." Garth replied shortly. He forced himself to grin at her. "I was prepared for something like that. I've had worse, don't worry. I'll be fine."

"You could have warned me!" she hissed, still looking distressed. She stood and held out her hand to help Garth up. "Well, we're in." she whispered, slightly fearful.

Garth nodded, allowing her to grasp his hand a little tighter than what was needed. He stared down the torch-lit corridor with an overwhelming sense of dread.


	9. That Which Yields

Warning: this chapter contains incredibly heavy violence. You have been warned.

* * *

The air in the old Temple was hot, stifling. The stone walls amplified even the smallest of sounds, keeping Hammer and Garth painfully on edge. The dim torches lining the walls cast an ominous glow over everything. It was overwhelming, as though they had began to descend into the very core of the earth itself.

Garth's stomach was bruised and his jaw ached agonisingly, and he knew that was only the start of his treatment, were Hammer to drag him through the Temple. But it was the only way he could think of to get to Reaver - and the Guards would certainly want him to reach Reaver. He knew what they planned; they wanted to kill Reaver in front of him. They practiced mental torture as much as they did physical, and Garth knew that he would be torn apart if he were forced to watch Reaver die. His hatred for the Spire Guards flared.

Hammer was clutching his hand, stammering apologies and questions concerning his well-being. Garth had warned her to steel herself - if they ran into anymore Guards, he would receive the same violent treatment - but she was in shock. Garth supposed he couldn't blame her; she'd had to watch, unflinching, as the Guard attacked a helpless man. It went against every one of her morals. Garth chided himself for not thinking to warn her about it.

"Hammer, if you must apologise, save it for later," he begged softly. "Wait until we've found Reaver, at least."

Hammer sniffed and took a shuddering breath. "You're right, we're too close for me to fall apart now. I'm sorry-"

"That's what I want you to stop saying," Garth said dryly. Hammer blinked at him.

"All right, I'll give you that one." she chuckled and took another deep breath. "What now, Garth? Please don't tell me I'm to drag you through this place until we get to Reaver, because I know you'll be hit and kicked and I'll just have to watch it."

"Yes, you will." Garth agreed.

"Don't sound so at peace with it!" Hammer hissed. "Sometimes I wonder if you really are mental. You've walked straight into the hornet's nest here because of some self-absorbed pirate, and you're not even worried-"

"Are you done?"

"Quit interrupting me! I'm done for now." Hammer lifted her chin, looking indignant. "Come on then, let's get this over with so I can beat you up myself." She tugged the mask back over her mouth.

"Lovely," Garth muttered, and he allowed Hammer to hold his hands behind his back as she half-carried him through the dimly-lit corridor. It was only when they reached what Garth guessed was the central chamber that they ran into more Guards.

There were only three doors that led deeper into the Temple from the central chamber, and a Guard stood watch at each of them. At the back of the room stood an old, decaying wheel with meaningless symbols, and beside it, a lever. It had been used as some sick Temple of Shadows ritual, Garth knew.

As Hammer brought him into the centre of the room, the three Guards rushed over to greet them. "Look who it is," one of them sneered, the thrilled note in his voice sending shivers down Garth's spine. He glared up at them defiantly.

"Still stubborn as hell, too. You beat that Bowerstone Hero too, which 'as gotta say somethin'!" The second Guard laughed as Garth frowned, puzzled. "You don't know? Well then, I ain't gonna tell ye." It seized Garth's face and leaned in. "It's been a while. Ye look the same, though ye got more clothes on." The other Guards guffawed.

Hammer's grip tightened around his arms. Garth could feel her hands trembling.

"Ye remember what to do 'ere?" The third Guard pinched Garth's nose closed, cutting off his air. Garth automatically clamped his mouth shut, the memory of foreign objects being forced past his lips now fresh in his mind. But he needed to breathe, and finally, as his lungs began to scream for air, he unclenched his jaw and took in a gasping, grateful breath.

Nothing was forced into his mouth this time, but the Guards roared with laughter as he wrenched his head away. Just as he had told himself to focus on escape all those years ago, he reminded himself that he was here to help Reaver. Reaver, who had been dragged here simply because of his association with Garth. Garth chanted his purpose like a mantra in his head as he was jerked from Hammer's grasp and hurled to the floor. He felt one of the Guard's boots on his back, holding him down, and groaned involuntarily.

"We'll have some fun with ye before we hand ye over," one of the Guard's taunted, and Garth's stomach turned over unpleasantly.

"Enough."

Hammer's soft voice silenced the Guards like a shout. Garth managed to glance up in time to see her plunge a dagger into the first Guard's back. She turned the dagger around inside it and wrenched it free, slicing apart its ribcage.

"Wha-"

The second Guard was silenced as Hammer thrust the blade into its neck, instantly killing it. The third started towards her, sword raised and anger gleaming in its eyes, and Garth gathered his wits in time to fire a Shock spell at it, electrocuting it. It was reduced to nothing but a skeleton within moments.

Garth climbed to his feet shakily as Hammer, spattered with blood, rounded on him. "Do _not _ask me to watch that again," she whispered fiercely. "The things they were saying… Oh, Garth, tell me it's not what I'm thinking!"

"I don't know what you're thinking," Garth replied carefully, and she heaved a heavy sigh.

"No, of course not. But no more." She tucked the dagger away in her belt and narrowed her eyes. "I can't just watch as these sick _freaks _just… they have…"

"We need to get to Reaver." Garth said firmly, but she shook her head.

"Then hide in the shadows, or hide behind me, I don't care. Just _no more!_" With that, she turned her back on Garth. "It wouldn't be so bad if you fought back, but you don't!"

"The idea of 'disguise' is clearly lost on you," Garth snapped. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, to empathise with Hammer, and finally gave in. He could see he wasn't going to win this one. "Have it your way. Pray that this doesn't add to our problems."

"Action, not praying, helps." Hammer said flatly, and Garth agreed with her. She turned back around. She had pulled the mask down again, and relief was clearly evident on her face. "They mentioned Sparrow. What do you think they were talking about?"

"Who knows?" Garth replied heavily. He was worried about the bodies; if another Guard found them, the alarm would be raised. "They may have been bluffing. Or they may have alerted Sparrow to Reaver's capture somehow. Clearly they don't realise how much those two hate each other."

"Sparrow wouldn't leave Reaver here though," Hammer said uncomfortably.

"You don't sound very sure of that." Garth pointed out bluntly. "In any case, we need to hide these bodies." He eyed the lever beside the strange wheel thoughtfully. They were clearly on a platform of some kind, as the stone in the circle was different to the rest of the floor, so perhaps…

"Hammer, come out of there." he ordered quietly. Hammer blinked before realising what he meant, and hurried out of the circle. Garth gingerly pulled the lever, careful not to break the old thing.

The wheel began to turn slowly. Bits of rotted wood flaked off it as it gathered speed, thankfully without much noise. It finally slowed to a stop, and the bodies on the platform began to glow and transform into…

"_Chickens?_" Hammer hissed incredulously.

"Dead chickens," Garth pointed out, just as astonished. "And a chicken skeleton. You've got to be kidding me."

"This _was _the Temple of Shadows, right?" Hammer asked doubtfully. "The same folk that tainted the Wellspring of Light and massacred Oakfield? Did they really turn people into _chickens?_"

"It would appear so." Garth would have laughed, were his mind not focused on more important matters. "Never let it be said that evil lacks creativity. But we don't have time for this." He glanced around. "I suppose we start at door one?"

The corridor was as dimly lit as the others, but the thing that separated it from the others was the twisted and broken statues that lined the walls. Garth took one look at Hammer and moved to see if he could fit in a crouch behind the first. He could. He shot Hammer a grin.

"So you dart from one to the other as I take a stroll through the evil park?" Hammer asked. She looked relieved - Garth was hidden. "I can deal with that."

It was that or drag Garth through the labyrinth to be abused. Garth knew which he preferred. They only ran into two other Guards in the hallway. Garth stayed in the shadows and Hammer tensed up as they passed, but if anything that made her look even more like a Spire Guard. They were three-quarters the way down the corridor when a loud crash resounded throughout the Temple. Hammer shot Garth an alarmed look.

"Wait here," she whispered. "I'm going to see what that was. Won't be a minute." She took off before Garth could stop her. He snarled with frustration and crouched down behind a statue, knowing it was best if he waited for her to return.

It was then that he heard that heaven-sent familiar voice float down the corridor.

"This is the worst party I have ever attended."

Heart in his mouth, Garth crept forward cautiously, edging closer to the door at the end of the corridor. He had a clear view of the room from behind the last statue, and he nearly laughed in relief.

Reaver was there, wrists shackled to the wall, but altogether unharmed. Five Guards stood watch in this cell: one against the adjacent wall, two by Reaver, one by the door, and one over in the corner with its back to the rest of the room. Garth resolved to wait for Hammer; if Reaver was unharmed, the Guards probably had orders to keep him that way. He would be safe for now.

And of course, he was making a royal pain of himself, Garth was pleased to see.

"Oh, can't we just slit his throat?" the first Guard (whom Garth had so cleverly titled Guard One) complained.

"Now, now, you heard the fellow with the pointy things in his head: I'm to be kept _alive._" Reaver said smugly. "Wait until the Mage gets here, then you can kill me all you want!"

"And if he doesn't come for you?" Guard Three sneered unkindly down at the Thief. Garth's stomach knotted at the sight of it.

Reaver however, remained unperturbed. "Then he's actually listened to his brain for once." he replied, shrugging as best he could in his chains. "He tends to ignore it when it comes to me. But then, that happens to most people. I'm too much for them."

"Yer too much for me," Guard Two growled. "I'm gonna enjoy cuttin' your tongue out."

"Well, until then, I'm going to enjoy irritating the life out of you!"

Garth shook his head, unable to keep the grin off his face. He knew he should have expected Reaver to be indignant over his treatment, rather than fearful. Did anything scare the man?

"You there," Reaver addressed the third Guard. "Bob!"

"Bob?" the Guard sounded bewildered.

"Yes. Seeing as you have yet to introduce yourselves, I've had to give you names myself. If you must know, that fellow is Frank-" he nodded to Guard Two "-and that one is Eugene." He nodded at Guard One. "I've yet to title your other friends because I grew bored. Anyway, what do you plan to do to the Mage when he gets here? I can't imagine you'll be treating him to tea and biscuits and things of such nature."

"None of your damned business," Guard Three growled.

"How rude! No wonder nobody likes you."

"Back down, man." Guard Four stepped forward and waved the others back. He sneered down at Reaver. "You know, the Will User's mouth got him into a lot of strife in the Spire. The Commandant didn't like his stubbornness."

"So I've heard." Reaver's amiable tone had disappeared, and was now replaced by something far more deadly. "So, was it protocol to rape your prisoners? Or was that something a number of you did, something to make you feel powerful in your otherwise meaningless lives of servitude?"

"I'll kill 'im." Guard Two started forward, but was stopped by Guard Four.

"Don't let him get to you." it said, and Garth realised that this Guard was probably in the running to become a Soldier. It turned back to Reaver. "If you must know, orders were given to punish him whenever he displeased the Commandant. Method of torture was usually never specified, so it was up to the Guard. And if it had been a while…" It broke off horribly and leaned in close to Reaver, grinning. "Rape wasn't the only torture method used on him though. Want to know what else we did?"

"The bile rises to my mouth at the thought," Reaver replied, and Garth had only ever seen the murderous smirk on his face a handful of times. "But do tell me. I need to know how horrible I should make your death."

The Guard seized his face and tilted it up, for no other reason than to demonstrate the power it held over Reaver. "We could show you, if you like." it snarled.

"You certainly could," Reaver agreed, and he lashed out with his foot and caught the Guard in the groin.

Garth had no love for the Spire Guards, but he couldn't help but wince as it stumbled back and doubled over.

"You- Low blow-" it snarled.

"I'm gonna enjoy killin' you," Guard Two growled at him.

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you!" Reaver exclaimed. "I'd say that great minds think alike, but… well, you clearly don't _have _a mind."

"Enough of this." The fifth Guard, the one who had previously been working on something in the far corner, now turned around, a small vial in his hand. "Serves you right for not tying his legs up too. You didn't even think to gag him."

"At least one of you has half a brain."

"Indeed." It held up the small vial. "And seeing as gagging you is apparently out of the question, we'll have to silence you another way. Hold his mouth open."

It was over almost as soon as it began. Reaver's head was wrenched back by his hair and his jaw held open securely, despite his struggles to pull away. The contents of the vial were poured down his throat and he choked, coughing and spluttering as he struggled to draw breath.

"That should do it." Guard Five stepped back and nodded, satisfied.

Reaver's head lolled forward, hiding the agonised look that Garth had managed to catch from his captors. Garth clutched onto the side of the statue until his knuckles turned white, his heart thudding in his chest as Reaver's laboured breathing slowly evened out.

_Hammer, where are you?_

Reaver finally glanced up, all humour, deadly or otherwise, gone from his face as he snarled at the Guards. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a rough, choking noise and he winced, hissing in a breath in pain.

"That will keep you quiet for a while," Guard Five said. It wrenched Reaver's head back again and sneered down into his face. "That was never done to your Will User, simply because he so rarely spoke. We had other methods of gagging him though. Would you like to see?"

Reaver kicked out at it and the Guard caught him by the ankle, as though it had been expecting that. It seized Reaver's other leg and held them together, ordering them to be tied, and Garth snapped.

_Don't let them touch him._

He unleashed a Force Push spell, so powerful that it slammed the five Guards up against the wall, one narrowly missing Reaver. Reaver turned his head against the blast, bracing himself as best he could, and when he saw Garth he lunged forward as though to help, forgetting about his chains momentarily. He grunted in pain as he was jerked back.

Garth hurried over to him, wanting to make sure Reaver was shielded from the Guards' attacks, as well as his own spells. "Just wait," he murmured, and Reaver grinned up at him, though he was still obviously in pain.

"You!" the fourth Guard was on his feet, his cutlass drawn. "Take him down!"

"You're going to pay," Garth hissed, and he sent forth a powerful burst of lightning that had the Guard twitching on the spot, unable to even scream in pain as the flesh was melted from its bones.

Garth summoned his protective Blades quickly, a moment later hearing the familiar _pang _as a Guard's attack bounced off them. He spun around and blasted the closest Guard with Inferno, only relenting when it fell to the ground, dead.

His arm was seized and he was spun away from Reaver; stumbling, he fired an Inferno blast blindly, heard the Guard hiss as it singed its side, felt the room shake as it crashed into the opposing wall. His coat was torn from his body as he was forced to his knees, his arms held out on either side of him, the Guards clutching his wrists so that he couldn't manoeuvre his hands to aim his spells at them. The third Guard stepped into view, tilted his head up and regarded him for a moment. Then it looked over its shoulder at Reaver.

"Watch," it ordered expressionlessly. "We will show you another torture method."

It took its place behind Garth now, and Garth was able to meet Reaver's eyes. There was a short silence, in which Reaver appeared to be holding his breath as he tried to twist his wrists out of their shackles. Garth heard the scraping of a dagger being unsheathed, felt the point of it press against the skin of his left shoulder blade. It was only when a strip of flesh was cut from his back and slowly pulled down did his mind register what was happening to him.

He was being skinned alive.

He had known pain before, had endured torture in the Spire until he finally passed out, only to wake in his cell later, roughly healed. But this was unlike anything he had ever felt. It whitewashed his mind, obliterating everything else until he could barely remember where he was, and as the strip of flesh, slippery with blood, was slowly razed, the scream he had been holding back erupted from his throat.

And this time, the Guards had no master for whom to keep him alive, no need for him in the future. This would last for a very long time.

He could hear his own screams, the rattling of chains, the thudding of footsteps, prolonged in the eternal present brought on by the excruciating pain. In a moment, the faces of all those he had known, loved and hated alike, flashed before his eyes, close enough to touch: Reaver, hair tousled and eyes bleary as he lay beside him in bed; Hammer, her young face eager as she prepared to avenge her father; Sparrow, determined to rescue him and leave the Spire alive; countless Castle Fairfax servants, too many to name, all looking at him curiously; his two brothers, his mother, his father; the residents of the gypsy camp in which he had spent his childhood…

And finally, Lucien, handsome in his youth, his eyes bright as he informed Garth of their staggering progress in locating the foundations of the old Spire. Garth could only scream as the apparition aged before him, gun poised at his head as it spoke of its intent, as it told Garth that eventually his very life force would be needed to make it happen…

Oh, but Garth had loved that young, knowledge-hungry man.

Suddenly he fell forward, dimly aware that the parting of his skin from his flesh had stopped, and as he pressed his cheek to the cold stone floor he realised the Guards must have let him go. There was shouting, gunshots, followed by the sickening crunch of bones as they were crushed under a massive force. And then, silence.

He lay on the floor, blood pooling around him as he stared, unbelieving, up at Hammer.

_What happened?_

"You're alive." Hammer sounded distant as his vision swam before him, and he realised he must have spoken out loud. Hammer had removed the mask, and she looked sickly pale as she crouched down before him.

"The Guards are dead," she told him, and suddenly she turned her head to the side, her hand over her mouth as her breathing hiccupped. "S-sorry. I'll bandage you up until we can get you proper attention."

He was shifted gingerly, propped up and pressure was applied to his wounds as Hammer bandaged him with who-knew-what. Slowly, the haze of pain began to disappear now that the dagger had stopped piecing his flesh. He groaned softly. "Reaver?"

"He's fine, though he hasn't said a word." Hammer sounded confused.

"They forced him to drink something." Garth was able to hold himself up now, though he felt light-headed. His body was unpleasantly sticky with blood and the material Hammer was using to bandage him was red, though whether that was its original colour or it was simply stained with blood, he couldn't tell.

"Did it hurt you?" Hammer wasn't looking at him, so he ignored it. She still looked horribly pale. "I rather like the quiet, actually."

Reaver made an indignant noise, and Garth looked over at him. Catching his eye, Reaver grinned. His wrists were still chained to the wall, but his right fingers were wrapped around the standard gun of a Spire Guard. He was able to use it, with difficulty.

"Done." Hammer stepped away from Garth, her hand hovering over her mouth again. "That was just sick. Free Reaver while I-"

She broke off and hurried from the room, and Garth understood that she was throwing up. As he grew closer to Reaver, he saw that the Thief too was looking a little pale. He supposed that having to watch someone be skinned was as sickening as it was painful to endure. Especially if it had affected Reaver.

The world began to spin around him and his stomach lurched, forcing him to prop himself against the wall beside Reaver. He gasped as he brushed his wounded back against the stone and fell forward, trying to overcome this wave of nausea.

"Give me a moment." he muttered to Reaver, and Reaver simply shook his head and rolled his eyes. Then, he froze, a frown overtaking his handsome features. A light pressure was placed on Garth's arm, and a voice, childish and new, followed it.

"Are you Daddy's friend?"

Garth looked up so quickly that he thought he would be sick. Once his vision focused he stared in shock as a little girl, no more than four years old, eyed him dubiously.

"Aunty Hammer said you're Daddy's friend." the girl repeated. She was dressed in grubby nightclothes, her blonde hair in pigtail-plaits and her lightly browned skin smeared with dirt. But there was no mistaking her eyes: impossibly bright, sky blue.

"Are you Sparrow's daughter?" Garth forced himself to smile at her, vaguely recalling Sparrow mentioning his youngest child. "Yes, I'm your father's friend. I'm Garth."

"She's bold, isn't she?" Hammer had returned now, some colour back in her face as she smiled at the little child. "That noise before, it was a Guard smashing something in front of her, to scare her into shutting up because she wouldn't stop crying. Her name's Hannah."

Garth almost laughed. How very like Sparrow, to name his child for the most important woman in his life outside of his family. He watched as the girl ran back over to Hammer, hiding herself behind Hammer's legs. "I'm three." she said, holding up four fingers. She quickly changed it once she realised her mistake. "How old are you?"

"Much older than you," Garth chuckled, and turned his attention back to Reaver. How would he get those chains off without the key? He certainly had no idea how to pick locks. He glanced at Reaver helplessly. Reaver simply blinked up at him.

"You're not older than my Mummy, but. My Mummy's older than the whole world!"

Reaver made a strangled noise as he tried to laugh, and Garth chuckled again. "Ouch, Hannah. That's cold!" Hammer commented, sounding amused. "She's trying to one-up you, Garth. Are you gonna take that?"

_Cold…_

Garth ignored them as an idea suddenly came to him. He had once started to create an ice spell, but had abandoned it in favour of others. It wasn't strong enough to use in battle, but surely it could freeze the chains for him to smash! He looked at Reaver.

"Can you pick locks?" he asked hopefully. When Reaver nodded, he sighed in relief and spoke of his idea. Reaver slowly grinned, and rattled the chains that bound his right wrist. He waved the gun pointedly.

"Shall I break them with that, then?" Garth asked, and Reaver nodded sharply. "Fine." He took the gun and set it aside for the moment, and slowly began to freeze the chain links.

"Hurry, Garth." Hammer sounded slightly panicky. "I killed a bunch of them when I was coming back, but I don't know how many more there are."

"You took them by surprise?" Garth asked. He was in no mood to speak, but he knew that talking calmed Hammer's nerves.

"Well, I still had that rotten mask on. And they didn't expect to be attacked from behind by one of their own…"

"Done." Garth whispered, even as Hammer continued speaking. He drew Reaver's wrist from the wall, holding it firmly and pulling the chain taut. He could hear the ice cracking it already as he picked up the gun and held it steady as he fired. The bullet shattered the frozen metal into pieces.

"Next one." Garth muttered, moving gingerly around Reaver, the pain in his back flaring up again as he began to give the second chain the same treatment.

"Oh, don't try to be quiet or anything." Hammer said from the doorway. "It's not like we're sneaking around or anything."

Reaver rolled his eyes, and Garth felt like doing the same. "I was screaming before. I think we can safely say discretion is off the list."

"Oh yeah, good point…"

Garth felt Reaver's fingers on the side of his face. He thought nothing of it at first; his Will scars were a source of endless fascination for Reaver, and he was constantly tracing them with his finger when he had a moment spare. It was only when Reaver's hand moved down behind Garth's neck did Garth realise he was up to something else. Suddenly, impatiently, he was pulled into a kiss.

He felt Reaver's tongue brush his bottom lip, he tasted the foul liquid the Thief had been forced to drink as he responded. Behind him, he heard the little girl descend into uncontrollable giggles and Hammer's irritated reprove at the sight of them.

"What the- Oi! Cut that out!" she hissed. "This is _not _the time!"

Reaver didn't let go, so Garth supposed that it _was _the time. He kissed back desperately, trying to convey all the stress and the worry and now the relief had felt in the past few hours.

"I'll come over there and separate you myself! So help me, I'll do it!" Hammer threatened, and it was only then that Reaver broke the kiss. "I was _not _expecting that. Honestly, he's chained to the bloody wall…"

Reaver grinned up at Garth as he moved to break the second chain. "We've upset her," Garth commented lightly. Reaver shrugged.

"…Spire Guards at our arses and these two think it's a prime location for romance…"

"We may have even broken her, it seems." Garth said, and he fired the gun at the frozen chain, shattering it. Reaver dropped his hands into his lap gratefully, and Garth guessed that the Thief had lost all feeling in them. "You'll have to pick the locks on the cuffs." he said, pointing to Reaver's wrists. Another wave of nausea swept over him and he staggered, groaning as he toppled sideways. Reaver caught him and gently lowered him to the ground.

"Garth! Are you okay?" Hammer's voice sounded distant again. He reached out to clutch at Reaver, but the Thief was gone. Confused, he glanced around and eventually spotted Reaver in the corner, where the fifth Guard had previously been. Reaver's weapons must have been there, because they were now sheathed in their familiar spots around his hips. After a few minutes he turned back around, free of the cuffs. He tossed them aside carelessly.

"Can we go?" Hammer asked anxiously. When Reaver nodded impatiently, she pulled Hannah to her side. "Stick close kiddo, but get back if we need to fight. Do what we say, all right?" The little girl nodded, her blue eyes wide.

Garth climbed slowly to his feet and retrieved his ruined coat. It was torn and covered in blood, dirt, and other stuff he didn't want to think about, but he still put it on. He felt naked without it, especially with Spire Guards around.

He was suddenly pulled off his feet as he was swept into Reaver's arms. Reaver manoeuvred him carefully, mindful of his injured back, and Garth ended up with his arms clinging around Reaver's neck as Reaver carried him as best he could. Garth glanced at him questioningly, and Reaver rolled his eyes and slowly mouthed one word.

_Run._

"Ah." The meaning clicked in Garth's head. "I can't run when I'm injured like this." he stated, and Reaver nodded sharply. "But you can't shoot, carrying me like this." he pointed out, and Reaver rolled his eyes. He shifted Garth so that he was propping him up with one arm, his free hand clutching his pistol.

"Fine," Garth conceded, and Reaver sheathed his pistol and went back to holding Garth with both arms. "But should we need to stop and fight, you will put me down." Reaver thought for a moment, then nodded.

"He's quite pleasant when he doesn't talk!" Hammer commented lightly, and she turned to lead the way out of the Temple. "We should keep him like this more often, eh?"

"Perhaps we should," Garth agreed, and chuckled when Reaver huffed indignantly.

"He can't even argue!" Hammer laughed. "It's beautifu-" She broke off as gunshots resonated throughout the Temple. "What's going on?" she hissed, on her guard again.

Garth took one glance at Reaver's face before hissing "Run, Hammer."

Hammer swept little Hannah up and they were off, none too keen to find out what those gunshots were. Each step Reaver took jolted Garth's shredded back, and he dug his fingers into Reaver's shoulders and bit down on Reaver's collar until his jaw ached, trying to block out the pain. Reaver's arms tightened around him.

Bodies of dead Spire Guards littered the corridor; Hammer had done an impressive job of killing all she came across. As they grew closer to the central chamber, they could hear inarticulate shouting in between the gunfire. Whatever was happening was causing the Spire Guards great distress. Garth dimly realised it was the reason no more of them came running to Reaver's prison cell.

The central chamber was empty. Hammer stopped so abruptly that Reaver had to veer off to the left to avoid colliding with her. "Graceful," she muttered to him, and he shifted Garth onto one arm so that he could flip her off.

The gunfire ceased. The Temple fell quiet, save for the footsteps running closer and closer every moment. The echo made it impossible to discern how many there were, only that they were coming from the doorway opposite. Reaver placed Garth down gently and drew his gun; he was ready for a fight. Garth prepared himself.

The man skid to a halt in the central chamber, his blonde hair whipping around his face as he spun around, turning his gun on the party. He froze.

"You're all here!" Sparrow gasped, disbelieving. "What-"

"Daddy!" Hannah wormed her way out of Hammer's grasp and began to run across the chamber to her father. Sparrow gave a strangled noise, caught between a laugh and a sob, his face shining with relief as he knelt down to greet the little girl, his arms outstretched.

Too preoccupied with the sweet family reunion taking place before them, none of them heard the heavy footsteps, noticed them halt, or heard the weapon as it was unsheathed. The little girl was stopped short; she fell to the ground, bleeding, a single bullet wound in her chest.

Sparrow's scream would haunt Garth in his nightmares.

"_Hannah!_" Hammer swirled around, her weapon in her hands and her expression furious, but Reaver beat her to attacking. There were three Guards in the last doorway: he killed the two stragglers with a single headshot each, and he shot the gun out of the assailant's hand. He shot the Guard's wrists and kneecaps, and it crumpled to the ground, roaring with pain. Slowly, his face impassive, Reaver went over to it, wrenched its head back, and forced his pistol into its mouth. A moment passed, and he pulled the trigger.

Hammer was frozen in place, her eyes wide, and when she next spoke she sounded uncharacteristically frightened. "Reaver, that was… cold, even for you."

Reaver glanced at her, snarled, and spat on the dead Guard's body. He knelt down and began to search its pockets.

Sparrow was cradling Hannah's body, whispering to her as he tried to halt the blood flow with his hand. Garth limped over to him and touched his shoulder.

"Rookridge Inn is just down the road from here," he said, his voice shaky. "There will be a doctor there, Sparrow. They can help her."

Sparrow blinked up at him, the rims of his eyes wet.

Having found what he was looking for, Reaver went over to Sparrow and nudged him with his foot to get his attention. Sparrow turned and glanced up at him, and Reaver held out his hand: he had found a health potion. Sparrow took it with a small nod. Whispering to his daughter _drink this, it will help_, he held the vial up to Hannah's pale lips. After a moment, they parted, and Sparrow carefully fed the potion to her.

It wasn't a powerful potion, but one look at Reaver told Garth that it was all the Thief had been able to find. It was just strong enough to stem the blood flow. Sparrow took a shuddering breath and stood, clutching his child to his chest. "We need to leave." he said steadily.

"Run, Sparrow." Hammer said emphatically. "Go to the Rookridge Inn. We'll be right behind you."

Sparrow glanced at her, then turned on his heel and sprinted to the exit.

Reaver picked Garth back up, and Garth could feel the Thief's heart hammering in his chest. It mimicked Garth's own, which was racing just as quickly. As Reaver carried him out of the Temple, Garth wasn't ashamed to admit that he clutched onto the Thief far tighter than was necessary.

* * *

Note: That line, where Hannah boasts about her mother's age, was inspired by a little boy who attended the preschool at which I used to work. He boasted the exact same thing after asking me my age. It was hilarious and almost impossibly innocent, so I simply had to include it.


	10. is Not Always Weak

'Awesomeness': The title of this chapter should easily give away my favourite series of books. :)

* * *

Garth was warm, sated. He was on his side in a soft bed, his eyes closed against the sunny room. Sweet nothings were whispered into his ear as a hand travelled from his shoulder to his hip, as though mapping out every curve and scar of his body with wonder.

Garth mumbled something incoherent and rolled over to give his partner a kiss, and promptly awoke with a pained cry as he put his weight on his injured back.

_Oh, right._

He groaned as he rolled back onto his stomach, remembering where he was. The inn in Rookridge. Of course, the Spire Guards…

The bedroom door was flung open and a moment later Garth was roughly rolled onto his side. He found himself blinking up at Reaver's ashen face. Reaver's concerned expression turned into one of annoyance as he huffed, turning on his heel and leaving the room again with a roll of his eyes. The door clicked shut behind him.

Garth sunk back into the pillows. He could barely remember their flight to the inn. He could recall lobbing several Fireballs over Reaver's shoulder as the Thief carried him, though at what he honestly didn't know. He also remembered stopping to fend off a group of Hobbes that were trying to follow Sparrow, probably in order to drag his injured daughter away. He also knew he had been stripped and his back sewn up, though whether he actually remembered the doctor doing it, or whether the images in his mind were simply conjured up by his imagination, he couldn't say.

Oh, that poor little child. Garth squeezed his eyes shut tightly, willing the image of the girl crumpling as she was shot, the sound of Sparrow's scream for his daughter, to leave his memory forever. But still it lingered, replaying over and over in his head as though it were taunting him.

The door opened and Reaver entered again, this time carrying a tray laden with food. He was disconcertingly sombre as he placed it on the small desk against the wall. He waited for Garth to slowly roll over and push himself up into a sitting position before handing him a bottle of water. Garth took it, drinking gratefully.

"The girl will live," Reaver said finally, and his voice sounded hoarse, as though someone had taken a grater to his throat. The mug he picked up was steaming, and Garth guessed the warmth helped his throat. Reaver drank before continuing. "Though her recovery will be long. And I doubt she'll ever recover mentally."

"Sad, but true." Garth muttered. He craned his neck to see out of the inn's tiny window. The sun was rising; he had slept the night through. "Where is she now?"

"Sparrow took her. I don't know where." Reaver sat down on the bed opposite and cleared his throat, though it did little good for the hoarseness. Garth blinked, he hadn't realised he and Reaver shared a room, though it made sense. "Probably back to her mother, if I had to guess."

Garth nodded and returned his gaze to the window. He paused, realising in shock that the sun was not rising, but _setting._ He had slept through the night _and _the following day. Unsurprising, he supposed; he and Hammer had gone without sleep to get to Rookridge. Garth had stayed awake for over 24 hours in order to get to Reaver as quickly as possible.

"You sound awful," he said to Reaver. He chuckled when Reaver scowled.

"I had _acid _poured down my throat, thank you." he said curtly.

Garth shook his head. "If it had been acid, your stomach would have been burned, too." he said. Reaver gave him a deadpan look.

"If you _must _know, I was vomiting throughout the entire night last night." he said flatly. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "You were fortunate enough to remain unconscious throughout the entire thing."

"Charming." Garth muttered. He eyed the food on the tray as his stomach rumbled, reminding him how long it had been since he had last eaten. He moved slowly, pain shooting up his spine as he stepped out of bed, but he ignored it as he padded over to the little table housing the food tray. He picked one of the shiny apples and bit into it, relishing its sweet taste. He heard Reaver chuckle mirthlessly.

"Ah, dear Mage." Reaver was looking at him with a strange expression. Garth stared at him in shock when he realised it was pity. "Hammer told me all about your little romp with the Spire Guards. It's almost as if you _enjoy _being their punching bag, you know."

Garth scowled, wondering why he had ever expected gratitude from this arrogant arse. "Next time, I'll leave you there." he said flatly.

Reaver chuckled again. It was a horrible, empty sound that sent chills down Garth's spine. "Might I remind you whose fault it was that I was even there?" he said unkindly, and Garth flinched. Reaver's expression softened. "Don't get me wrong, Mage, I'm rather glad you _did_ come after me. I just don't understand why."

"It's because I-" Garth began, ready to confess his feelings, but Reaver cut him off.

"Oh, no, I understand _that._" he said quickly, and he sounded panicky. Garth realised that, though he knew, he didn't want to hear _Garth _say it. Reaver was a curious man, powerful and confident, and yet so utterly fragile once the walls he had built around himself were broken down. "But that reason is what I don't understand. And I don't want to."

Garth had to sit down. The pain in his back was becoming unbearable. "You don't consider that running away?" he asked when he was settled.

Reaver gave him a sharp look. "Perhaps it is." he spat. "But remember, Mage: every time I've asked you about Lucien, you've given answers so vapid that _steam_ appeared solid in comparison. Are you really in a position to judge?"

Garth flushed furiously, scowling. "You're impossible," he growled. Reaver laughed, that same hollow sound that made Garth feel as though a cold hand had been wrapped around his heart.

"Yes. It's part of my charm, or so I'm told." He leaned against the wall, his legs stretched out across his bed. He eyed Garth as he nursed his drink, his expression unreadable. Garth returned his gaze evenly, almost mimicking the way he nursed his water. Finally, Reaver spoke.

"You know, Mage, I know what it's like."

Garth stared at him. "You know what what's like?" he asked coldly.

"To be raped," Reaver said simply, and Garth's expression changed into one of shock. "It's why I abhor it so. Oh, don't look so surprised." he scoffed, once he noticed Garth's expression. "Did you think I became pirate king overnight? I had to work my way to the top, to hone my already fine skills to ensure I remained unchallenged once I reached my goal. Back then, those ill-educated thugs would do all sorts of things to newcomers, claiming it all to be part of some sick initiation ritual."

"That's disgusting," Garth muttered before he could stop himself.

"Of course it is. I took particular umbrage to the practice as I've always considered sex to be one of the highest forms of pleasure. It is certainly not a weapon." Reaver frowned. He didn't seem to be looking at Garth anymore; rather, he was staring off into space, lost in his memories. "Needless to say, I abolished the practice with an iron fist once I took 'office', shall we call it. Oh, and I also killed my assaulters." He grinned savagely, a sadistic gleam in his eye. "I gave them an hour to hide. Then I hunted them. It took me days to find one of them, but I got them all in the end."

Garth pressed his cheek to the cold stone wall of the inn, cooling his face. "I had no idea," he said lowly. Reaver shrugged and took another swig of his drink. He cleared his throat again to little avail. It was clearly paining him. Garth sighed.

"You seemed to take particular umbrage at the girl getting shot, too." he pointed out finally. Reaver raised an eyebrow.

"I have little tolerance for fools," he said flatly. "However, children, by their very nature, are foolish. They've yet to learn otherwise. That's what makes them children."

"Where you say foolish, I say naïve," Garth said. Reaver shrugged.

"Regardless, I don't kill children. And if I don't kill children, nobody should."

In spite of everything, Garth chuckled. "Your actions dictate what others should do, do they?" he teased. Reaver grinned and lifted his chin, his exaggerated air of arrogance back.

"But of course." He stood. Garth watched curiously as the Thief made his way over to his bed, plonking himself down beside Garth. He leaned forward, whispering in Garth's ear. "By the way, Mage, don't think I've forgotten that little quip you made in the Temple."

Garth's heart skipped a beat. He knew that look in Reaver's eyes, knew what it promised. "Little quip?" he asked, clueless. Reaver's hot breath ghosting over his ear was distracting too much, he couldn't think straight.

Reaver chuckled lowly. He knew the effect he had on Garth. "About my voice, dear Mage, don't tell me you've forgotten." Garth gasped as Reaver nipped his ear. "You claimed I was far more pleasant when I couldn't talk."

"I did not, Hammer did!" Garth protested breathlessly, shifting to get away from this maddening man. Reaver simply followed him.

"And you agreed with her." Reaver reminded him. "And you will pay for it." His arms encircled Garth's waist and Garth was pulled into his lap. His back was pressed gently up against Reaver's torso and Garth tried to look over his shoulder at the man, but it was proving difficult.

"Enough of this," Garth hissed, his breath hitching as Reaver pressed open-mouthed kisses to the back of his neck. "We're not at home. Someone could walk in at any moment."

Reaver chuckled lowly. "That's what makes it more fun," he murmured. Even with his hoarse throat, his voice was still husky, and it ignited a fire within Garth that only Reaver could put out. He moaned softly as Reaver's hands ran across his bare torso, squirmed as Reaver ran his mouth over Garth's shoulder. Reaver traced a Will scar with the tip of his tongue and Garth gasped as it tingled.

"You like that." Reaver sounded faintly amused. One of his hands travelled down Garth's chest - oh, had Garth ever felt such desperation for another's touch? - and he none-too-gently squeezed Garth's arousal through his trousers, causing the Mage to groan loudly. "You like that, too. I've always said that a bit of pain can add ample amounts of pleasure, if done right." He squeezed again, gently this time, and began to unlace Garth's trousers. "Your back, is it bothering you?" he whispered into Garth's ear.

"No," Garth breathed. Truth be told, he had forgotten all about his injury. Hell, he had almost forgotten where they were. Almost. "We have no protection," he pointed out.

"No matter. We can have sex without penetration." Reaver sounded nonchalant. "Have you any more objections, or may I continue to tease you? You make the most delightful sounds when you're desperate."

Garth couldn't stifle his gasp as Reaver's hand slipped into his loosened trousers. Reaver all but ignored his erection, instead moving down to fondle his balls, his touches alternating between soft and rough. He soon had Garth squirming.

"Here," he whispered, and he pushed two of his fingers into Garth's mouth. _His right hand,_ Garth realised dimly as he swirled his tongue around the digits distractedly, not really understanding the point as Reaver had already stated that they weren't going to fuck, but not really caring about that anyway.

The hand in his trousers retreated, and Garth protested the loss of sensation. There was a small movement behind him - Garth felt Reaver's hand bump into the small of his back - and the hand returned to his trousers, this time wrapping itself around Garth's erection. Reaver whispered into Garth's ear again, "Can you reach your hand behind your back?" and Garth realised that the Thief had freed his own erection from his trousers.

Garth tried. His back stung slightly in protest as he twisted, but he could easily ignore it. He grasped Reaver's erection blindly, giving it a few awkward strokes. Reaver chuckled.

"You can't come until I do," he whispered wickedly. "You can't turn around, either." Garth shuddered pleasantly at the hot breath at his neck. He tried to stroke Reaver fluidly, but the angle proved too difficult.

"It's hard," he complained around the fingers in his mouth.

"Of course it is," Reaver chuckled. "I would be worried if it wasn't, given what I have in my lap." Garth flushed brightly then moaned loudly as Reaver gave him a particularly hard stroke. Then the fingers in his mouth were removed, the hand replacing the one in his trousers. The other hand splayed across Garth's chest, holding him in place.

"Relax now," Reaver murmured, and the wet digits slipped past Garth's erection, past his balls, and began to push slowly into his entrance. Garth gasped.

"You said we weren't-" he hissed, only to have Reaver cut him off.

"My _fingers _don't need protection!" he sounded slightly irritable now. "_Relax,_ damn you, so that you actually enjoy it! There's no point in teasing you if you're hating it."

Garth chuckled and took a deep, shuddering breath, willing his body to relax. Reaver pressed comforting kisses to his shoulder blade, a sharp contrast to the rough nips he'd been receiving before. Soon enough, Reaver was able to add a second finger and push deeper, slowly, his thumb stroking Garth's balls idly. He curled his fingers up, hitting that spot deep within Garth, and Garth was unable to suppress his loud moan of pleasure. Reaver chuckled.

"There it is," he mused. "It's different at this angle." He pulled out momentarily to remove Garth's trousers completely, as gently as he could. Garth protested weakly - after all, Reaver was still clothed - but Reaver only laughed at him.

"I believe you were doing something," he said pointedly, and Garth reached his hand back around his back - when had he removed it? - and began stroking Reaver as best he could again. Reaver gave a soft moan of satisfaction and pushed his fingers back into Garth. It didn't take him long to find that spot that had Garth crying out in ecstasy again.

"That's what I like to hear," Reaver said mildly. Garth moaned loudly as Reaver struck that spot again. "The quiet ones always make the most noise, or so I've found. But if you keep on like this, the entire inn will know what I'm doing to you."

Garth flushed furiously, realising that some of his cries had probably already been heard, but then let out another one involuntarily as Reaver struck that spot again.

"You'll need to be quiet if you want to remain discreet. Can you do that?" Reaver laughed as Garth's loud moan answered him. "I suppose not. You'll thank me for this." He covered Garth's mouth with his free hand, effectively stifling his cries.

Normally, Garth would have panicked. But Reaver was pressing chaste, soothing kisses to his shoulder blade again, whispering things like _calm down _and _I won't hurt you_ in between. He squirmed, wanting Reaver to move his fingers again, and Reaver gladly obliged.

Garth hadn't forgotten Reaver's little rule. He bent his other arm behind his back. He held Reaver's erection in place with one hand, and with the other he massaged and pinched the tip. His clumsy movements were rewarded with breathy moans, and he chuckled proudly.

"Clever, aren't you," Reaver growled. "Let's see if you can sustain it." He thrust his fingers up forcefully, and Garth dropped his head back on Reaver's shoulder, his moans muffled by Reaver's hand. He glanced at Reaver's face. The Thief's cheeks were flushed and his breathing hitched. A faint sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and Garth wondered briefly if his throat was bothering him. He forgot about it with the next thrust.

Reaver suddenly shifted so that they were facing the door, and Garth glanced at him questioningly. They were in full view, if someone walked in now, little would be left to the imagination. And with his hands behind his back, mouth covered and legs spread… Garth flushed deeply in humiliation as he realised he looked more like a whore than a scholar or a Will Hero. But Reaver's next words drove all thoughts of shame from his mind.

"Let them walk in," the Thief hissed emphatically into his ear. "I want them to see what they can't have." He ran his tongue along the outer shell of Garth's ear, his fingers thrusting as quickly as possible.

Garth moaned. He was so close, and yet Reaver wasn't even near the edge yet. He had to do something, or he would be in for hours of discomfort as he tried to jack off the Thief this way.

He paused, an idea coming to him. So Reaver liked a bit of pain, did he? He navigated his hand down Reaver's shaft desperately, pausing when his fingertips brushed against the Thief's balls. He concentrated furiously, and for one fleeting moment he was able to block out everything as he performed the smallest of Shock spells.

Barely more than a zap, it elicited strangled cries of pleasure from Reaver, his injured throat preventing them from getting any louder than conversational volume. Garth stroked him roughly a few more times before using the spell again, and Reaver climaxed with a shuddering gasp.

"C-Clever," he panted, a stunned note in his voice. "We'll have to discuss exactly what spells you can do, later. But for now, let's focus on our deal." He thrust deep and hard, and Garth's body trembled as heat began to pool at the pit of his stomach.

"You may come now," Reaver whispered, and he suddenly chuckled smugly. "_My _Mage."

_That bastard,_ Garth thought furiously, even as the heat burst forth and he orgasmed, spilling himself over Reaver's waiting hand. Reaver uncovered Garth's mouth and they sat still for a few moments to regain their breaths. Garth flinched when he realised how hoarse Reaver's pants were.

"Why am I so warm?" Reaver complained.

"You're still clothed," Garth pointed out.

"I knew that." Reaver shifted Garth carefully from his lap and stood, making his way over to the bedroom's small cupboard. After a moment he pulled out a small, brown towel.

"I wonder if this is its original colour," he commented, and Garth wrinkled his nose distastefully. Reaver cleaned himself off before bringing it over to Garth. "Your back is bleeding a little." he said.

"Wonderful," Garth muttered. Now that he was coming down from his high, his back was starting to hurt, too. He took the towel and cleaned himself off, and then lay down on his stomach without bothering to get dressed. Reaver glanced at him before stripping off his clothing.

"It's only spotting. It probably would have done that anyway." He flopped down beside Garth, his hand draped over his eyes to block out light. Even taking into consideration what he had just been doing, his cheeks looked unhealthily pink.

"Are you feeling all right?" Garth asked.

"Just tired," Reaver muttered, and Garth knew he was lying. He was sick, from either his infected throat or from the stuff he drank for it. "Where's that apple you had?"

He was only trying to distract Garth from his condition. Unfortunately, it worked. Garth glanced around the bed, blinking. "I don't know." he said at length.

"How do you lose an apple?" Reaver scoffed. Garth scowled at him.

"It's your fault, you distracted me."

"You were sitting there half-naked. You tempted me."

"What I was or wasn't wearing is hardly the point." he said, unable to keep himself from chuckling now. Reaver grinned and lifted his hand away from his eyes, and cracked one open to meet Garth's gaze. He really did look feverish, and a wave of guilt swept over Garth. He gnawed at his bottom lip.

"You were taken because of me," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

Reaver frowned disapprovingly at him, surprised, before he relaxed and smiled again.

"Oh, anytime, Mage." he replied lightly. "My chances at surviving with them for so long are far greater than yours, after all. It was a refreshing change to sit back and play the damsel in distress for once." When Garth shook his head, not meeting Reaver's eye, Reaver gave a long-suffering sigh. "You are the dumbest smart person I've ever met. You'd shoulder the entire world's problems if you could."

Garth glanced at him in surprise, but was spared answering by a knock at the door. Garth gave them permission to enter and the door opened, revealing Hammer, bleary-eyed but healthy.

"Ah, Garth! You're awa- Oh goddamn it you two, _clothes_, please!" Hammer's relieved tone quickly turned to embarrassment and exasperation as she caught sight of the two naked men on the bed. She looked away, blushing brightly.

Garth blushed too, even as Reaver chuckled and pulled the bed sheet up over them. He had forgotten that they were naked. He was so used to lying naked in bed with Reaver that he thought nothing of it now. At least he was lying on his stomach, he supposed; unlike Reaver, who had been unabashedly displaying _everything _to the world.

"Will that do?" Reaver asked shortly. Hammer glanced at them and nodded, though her cheeks were still red.

"You sound better than yesterday," she said to him, probably in an effort to distract herself. Reaver chuckled darkly.

"Much better. The Mage has seen to that."

"Oh, I'm going to have nightmares about this!" Hammer wailed.

"They aren't nightmares if you enjoy them, dear."

"No. Just no. Garth-" she turned her attention from Reaver, the irritation on her face softening as she looked at Garth. "How are you feeling? How's your back?"

Garth propped his head up on his hand. "Well enough, what about you?"

Hammer scoffed. "I'm fine." she said flatly. She turned back to Reaver. "Have you asked him about that book yet?"

"Book?" Garth asked quizzically, as Reaver replied, "Ah, no." Garth looked at him with a quirked eyebrow and he grinned sheepishly.

"The fools kept asking me if you had in your possession a book for which they were searching," he explained. "I must have told them a hundred times that you didn't have it, but they refused to believe me. And to think, I was actually telling the truth for once…"

"Do I have to guess this book's name, or are you going to tell me?" Garth broke in irritably. Reaver chuckled.

"That would be fun, but no." He frowned thoughtfully. "It had an odd name. I'd certainly never heard of it before. Nommy Norman, or something equally ridiculous."

"You said it was Norman's Con!" Hammer protested accusingly. Reaver shrugged.

"As I said, it was a stupid name and I'd never heard of the blasted thing before. Does it ring any bells, Mage?"

Garth snorted. Nommy Norman? Norman's Con? What sort of rubbish was thi-

He froze, a terrible thought occurring to him. Surely they couldn't be searching for…

"Was it the _Normanomicon_?" he asked weakly.

"Yes, I believe it was." Reaver replied after a moment. "Your expression looks promising. What's this book, then?"

"It's a powerful spell book," Garth muttered. "It contains only the dark arts. Translated, its name is _Book of the Extremely Dead._"

Silence followed his explanation. Then Reaver chuckled sardonically.

"Oh, that sounds charming."

"You're saying this book can raise the dead?" Hammer gasped. "But why- I mean, they've been trying to kill you! Why would they do that if they're gonna bring back Lucien?"

The thought made Garth sick. Even in death, the man refused to leave him alone. Oh, how he regretted ever stepping foot into that fucking castle in the first place.

"Perhaps we were wrong. Perhaps they've simply been trying to incapacitate Sparrow and I so that they can easily hand us over to Lucien." He rested his head against the pillow, wishing once again that he had stayed in Samarkand. He had been treated as a foreigner there - after all, he had spent most of his life in Albion - but at least he had been safe. At least he had been away from Lucien and his memories.

"And as soon as Lucien pops his little undead head up, we'll be in the shit." Reaver said to Hammer. Garth glanced at him, realising how stressed he was. His ill-health was probably adding to that stress. "Wonderful. So I suppose we should run this whole blasted thing by Sparrow before we decide what to do. Where is he, anyway?"

Hammer shrugged. "He said he was taking his family into hiding. I 'spose it wouldn't be hiding if I knew where they were." she said flatly, though Garth could see how much Sparrow's refusal to confide in her hurt her. "He took Keiran and Elisabeth too. He said he'd meet us in Oakfield in about a week, which is what I came in here to tell you originally." She glanced at Reaver. "A coach stops at the coach house up the road every day at midday. If you want one before that you've gotta pay extra. It's that or we can walk."

Reaver hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose we can wait until tomorrow," he said, glancing at Garth as he spoke. "I'm rather enjoying using this region's Hobbes as target practice."

Hammer snorted. "You were vomiting on them the other night," she said bluntly, and Garth blinked.

"You were what?" he asked Reaver, amused. Reaver shrugged as Hammer roared with laughter.

"He spent the first night we were here with his head over the side of the cliff," she explained, grinning. "Didn't seem to care that there were buckets up here he could use in safety. When I asked him why, he said he was aiming for any Hobbes that might be on the riverbank at the bottom."

"I would have hit any that were down there," Reaver said confidently. "I never miss, after all."

In spite of everything, Garth laughed, very glad that both Reaver and Hammer were here with him. If he had thought them amusing when they didn't get along, they were ten times more so - and much more likable - when they did.

**

The next day they piled themselves into the coach, eager to arrive home. Garth propped himself in the corner, using a pillow that Hammer had nicked from the inn to cushion his back. Reaver slid into place beside him, looking much better than he had the previous day, though his voice was still hoarse, and Hammer sat on the cushioned bench opposite them.

Garth hadn't slept well; his injured back hadn't allowed it. He dozed lazily as he listened to Reaver and Hammer chat, content with not joining in. He knew they didn't particularly like each other all that much, so he was grateful that they were being cordial, at least for the moment.

"Rid this region of its Hobbes and it would be habitable," Reaver was saying simply.

Hammer snorted. "That's like saying all of Westcliff would be habitable if you just got rid of the balverines," she scoffed. "Sounds easy enough, but it would take a long time to exterminate them forever."

"Luckily, I have a long time," Reaver chuckled. "I'm well aware of the size of the task. It would make a lot of money."

"It would _take _a lot of money, too."

Garth began to drift off to sleep, finally getting comfortable. He glanced down lazily as Reaver rested his head in his lap, his body stretched out across the bench.

"If you get a pillow, I get a pillow," Reaver said flatly, catching his eye. "So now we all have pillows. Except for Hammer, who must ride in discomfort."

"Will you be as comfortable when I break your legs, I wonder?"

"Probably not, but at least I'll still have a pillow."

Garth began to laugh as Reaver grinned up at him.

"He thinks we're funny." he said to Hammer.

"Of course he does, he's a bloody loon." was Hammer's fond reply.

Garth chuckled and started to drift off again, slowly, ignoring the chatter around him until…

"Do you think he would look any good in a dress?"

"Who, Garth? Nah, he hasn't got the figure for it. You'd look better."

"I look good in anything though."

Perhaps it wasn't such a good thing that they were getting along, after all.


	11. Someday, Out of the Blue

Warning: the first half of this chapter contains heavy smut.

* * *

It took Reaver's throat another two days to recover, and the better part of a week passed before Garth's stitches could be pulled. The cuts had been severe, even though they weren't particularly deep; after all, the skin had been pulled from his flesh.

Reaver watched this time, as Oakfield's doctor delicately snipped the fine twine. Garth found it easy to sit still as stitches were getting removed; on the odd occasion that it did hurt, it was only a quick, sharp sting.

"You know, I've needed more stitches since coming to live here than I've ever had in my entire life," Garth commented lightly. Reaver, who was leaning against the wall, watching the doctor closely, shrugged.

"That's hardly my fault, is it?" he replied flatly. Garth chuckled.

"You misunderstand me. I'm not blaming you at all."

"Ah, so it's this 'I wish I stayed in Samarkand' thing again?" Reaver's gaze shifted to Garth's face. He was amazingly perceptive, sometimes. Garth had been sure to keep any woebegone notes out of his voice. "You know, surely, that they would have found you there eventually. They are irritatingly persistent that way." He flashed Garth a grin. "Besides, if you had stayed there you would have missed out on yours truly! How would you have been able to live with yourself?"

Garth shook his head. "Technically, this wouldn't have happened, so I wouldn't know what I'm 'missing out on'." he pointed out. Reaver scowled.

"Keep your logic to yourself, Mage." he said haughtily, and Garth laughed at him.

Sparrow was due to arrive in a day's time, which meant that their precious recovery and relaxation time would come to an end. Sparrow would insist on taking action, even when he didn't know all the details; throwing himself in the deep end and hoping he wouldn't get caught in a rip was what Sparrow did.

Garth had spent the last few days pouring over book after book, trying to find out as much as he could about the _Normanomicon. _But in spite of the endless sea of information on its history and its evil, no one seemed to have recorded its current resting place. Garth's frustration was growing steadily.

"Mage, let it _go,_" Reaver had implored in exasperation when Garth pushed away yet another book. "Wait until Mister Fix-It arrives. He's supposedly the great adventurer; perhaps he knows something about it."

"And if he doesn't?" Garth muttered. He reached for the next book, and Reaver huffed loudly in irritation.

"Keep this up then. I don't care!" And with that he stormed out of the study, well and truly proving otherwise.

Garth realised now why Reaver had been acting so sulky: he was being ignored. Garth had barely paid any attention to him since returning from Rookridge. He hadn't been doing it on purpose, but he supposed it was a lesson in humility for the Thief. Unfortunately, Reaver wasn't taking it well.

Reaver was giving Garth the silent treatment. He had probably been doing it for the past few days, but Garth hadn't realised until this morning. Sadly for Reaver, it wasn't the insult he had hoped it would be; Garth was endlessly amused by his childish tantrum.

He supposed he needed to apologise to Reaver though. He knew what he had in mind would more than make it up to the Thief.

It had taken him all day to psyche himself up for what he was going to do. Even now, as he descended carefully their shared home's staircase, insecurity and embarrassment welled up inside him. His mind screamed at him to turn around, to clean and take care of himself upstairs before apologising verbally to his lover. But he didn't. He was determined to do this.

Reaver was lounging about in the sitting room, reading by lamplight. Garth crept over to him - his size really was an asset sometimes - and plucked the book from his hands. He went to replace it on the shelf.

"Hey!" Reaver protested, forgetting his usual aristocratic vernacular in his surprise. He moved to take back the book, but Garth grabbed his wrist and, with the help of a Force Push spell, slammed him up against the wall and pressed their lips together.

Reaver made a surprised noise but soon responded to the kiss, raking his free hand down Garth's arm, his fingers lingering over the larger Will scars. Garth forced himself to keep his cool - he was not here to be dominated by the Thief - and he used another Force Push spell to effectively pin Reaver against the wall. Reaver blinked down at him breathlessly.

"We're going to play a little game," Garth murmured against his lips. He pulled away just enough to see the Thief's flushed face.

"I like games." Reaver breathed at length, evidently unable to think of anything else to say. Garth chuckled.

"If I can pin you over there-" he jerked his head to where a cushioned bench rested against the wall underneath the window "-I get to fuck you in front of that window."

Reaver's breathing quickened. He loved it when Garth swore, and he clearly liked the sound of Garth's game. "In that case, my prize had better be fantastic, Mage, because at the moment I don't particularly want to win."

Garth chuckled again. "If you can get me upstairs, you can tie me to the bed and fuck me there," he answered simply.

Reaver's eyes widened as he stared at Garth in shock. "Really?"

"Yes." The idea made him nervous, but Garth trusted Reaver enough now to let him do it. Reaver would take it slow, he wouldn't do anything that he knew would make Garth panic. Garth smirked up at him. "Well?"

Reaver's eyes darted over to the window. Garth knew he was calculating his chances. "Your location is closer," he complained breathlessly.

"You have a size advantage over me," Garth pointed out. Reaver pouted.

"You have a Will advantage."

Garth laughed again. He leaned up to kiss Reaver again. "You'll just have to deal with that," he murmured against the Thief's lips.

Reaver worked his wrist from Garth's grasp and pushed him backwards, not once breaking the kiss as he tore at Garth's coat's fastenings. Garth raked one hand through Reaver's hair - a move that he knew always distracted the Thief - and moved the other hand down to unlace Reaver's trousers. He was already hard, Garth noted triumphantly. Once unlaced, he slipped his hand inside and danced his fingers over Reaver's inner thigh, using his Shock spell like he had at the Rookridge Inn.

This time he was able to see Reaver's face. It twisted with pain and pleasure as he moaned loudly, his hands clutching the front of Garth's coat where they had been unbuttoning it. Garth took the chance to push him back towards the window, covering half the distance before Reaver realised was he was doing and dug his heels into the floor.

"Not so easy, Mage," he growled roughly. He tore Garth's coat from his body and tossed it aside carelessly. He raked his fingers over Garth's abs before kneeling to replace them with his tongue, his hands working the lacing on Garth's trousers deftly.

Garth gasped at the feeling of his tongue, moaned at the sight of having Reaver on his knees before him, but refused to give in. Reaver was thrown onto his back as Garth used yet another Force Push spell. Garth concentrated, using a small Blade spell to slice Reaver's shirt off him - he knew Reaver wouldn't care, it wasn't one of his favourite shirts - and followed him to the floor, pinning his wrists above his head as their lips met in another kiss. Reaver bucked his hips up against Garth's and Garth broke the kiss.

"Oh, Mage, just fuck me here," Reaver groaned desperately, grinding his hips up again.

"No," Garth growled forcefully, pulling away just enough so that Reaver couldn't get the friction he so clearly craved.

Reaver cried out in frustration and broke free of Garth's grasp. He sat up and pushed Garth's chin up to give him access to his Will scarred neck. His hands caressed Garth's chest and Garth moaned, allowing himself to give into the sensations for just a moment.

"I've just about had it with you," Reaver hissed. He stood, pulling Garth up with him, and Garth dimly realised that the Thief was trying to pick him up. In a last ditch attempt to distract him, Garth pushed his hand into Reaver's trousers, wrapped it around his erection, and used the smallest Shock spell he could.

Reaver's cry was deafening. His fingers bit bruising into Garth's shoulders as he hunched forward, his head resting in the crook of Garth's neck. "Fuck, _Garth!_" he moaned loudly, driving his hips forward.

One last Force Push spell was all Garth needed to send Reaver sprawling onto the bench chair. Reaver looked at him through hooded eyes, a ghost of his usual grin on his face. Garth leaned over him, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips.

"Do I win?" he asked lowly.

Reaver took a shuddering breath. "Yes," he replied.

Garth smirked. He had been preparing himself for this all day, of _course _he won. "Then turn over," he ordered, his fingers caressing Reaver's cheek gently. "And brace yourself against the window."

Reaver didn't bother hiding his eagerness as he did as he was told. Garth pushed his trousers down to his knees, but when Reaver went to kick them off Garth gave his backside a chastising slap.

"They stay there," he ordered as Reaver moaned and pressed his cheek against the window.

Garth's trousers were already partly unlaced from Reaver's attempts earlier. He finished the job and drew out his erection, already protected and lubricated. Much of the lotion had rubbed off on the inside of his trousers, but he had learned that Reaver didn't need too much. Hell, he didn't even need preparing. But when Garth positioned himself at Reaver's entrance, the Thief made a sound of protest as he twisted around to look at Garth. Garth chuckled.

"I put one on upstairs," he said simply. Reaver gaped at him.

"Am I to understand that you allowed me to sit down here as you touched yourself upstairs?" he said indignantly, and Garth knew he was about to be on the receiving end of a rant. "You sly dog, of all the… Not that I don't appreciate the preparation that went into this, but if you're going to jack off in the house, at least tell me so that I can wa- _Okay_."

Garth cut him off effectively by thrusting forward, burying himself to the base inside Reaver. Reaver groaned softly and bit his lip, pressing his cheek against the cool window again. Garth pulled out, angled himself the way Reaver had taught him, and this time his thrust was rewarded with a loud moan.

Garth continued, oblivious to everything but Reaver. There was a squeak: Reaver had propped himself up against the window with one hand; a particularly loud moan: Garth had reached around and began to stroke Reaver; a hand tangling in his hair: Reaver was clutching him tightly; a salty taste on his tongue: he was kissing Reaver's shoulder. All of it combined with the scent of mild cologne and sweat and that very peculiar smell which could only be described as _sex_, and the intense heat all around him, Garth felt himself growing closer and closer to the edge with every moment.

"You said once," Reaver panted; he sounded just as far gone as Garth, "That living together didn't make us friends."

He had said that, hadn't he? When he had first arrived, after accepting Reaver's invitation to stay with him. It seemed so long ago now; he hadn't even _liked _Reaver back then. The arrangement had been a matter of convenience, one that he could back out of when it grew tiresome. Now, Reaver would have to tell him to leave before Garth went anywhere. That, or kill him.

Garth chuckled breathlessly. "What of it?" he gasped. "I think we're a bit beyond the 'friends' label now."

Reaver glanced over his shoulder, his cheeks pink and his eyes clouded with lust. "So, still not friends then?" he asked cheekily.

Garth laughed at the absurdity of it all - he really didn't understand Reaver's mind sometimes - and thrust harder, more erratically. Reaver's moans developed into screams and in between them he urged Garth on vulgarly.

"That's it, Mage! Harder! Put on a show for the entire worthless fucking town!"

Garth's fingers dug into Reaver's hips, hard enough to bruise, and he gave Reaver's erection a particularly hard, rough stroke. Reaver arched, pushing himself up so that his back was against Garth's chest, and he clutched onto Garth's arm as he climaxed with a cry.

The spasming body against his was enough to push Garth over the edge. With a final deep thrust he came, muffling his moan by biting down on Reaver's shoulder. Reaver moaned at the contact.

The stillness that followed was a sharp contrast as both men tried to catch their breaths. Garth pulled out of Reaver and carefully removed the soiled condom, wrinkling his nose with distaste as he trudged over to the coffee table, retrieved a tissue and wrapped it inside it.

Reaver slumped down from the seat onto the floor, somehow managing to look elegant even as he sprawled himself out. His grin told Garth that he was thoroughly sated. "What brought that on, Mage?" he asked curiously. Garth chuckled.

"The sudden and intense desire to put you back in your place," he answered simply. Reaver beckoned him over, and Garth sat on the floor next to him.

"Was it really so hard?" Reaver teased, and Garth scoffed at him.

"I was psyching myself up for it all day." he confessed. Reaver laughed.

"It wasn't all that sudden, then." His arm curled around Garth's shoulders and Garth was pulled up against him. He rested his head on Reaver's shoulder. "I'll win next time," Reaver told him confidently.

Garth shook his head. "Next time may be a while off," he warned. "Sparrow is due to arrive tomorrow. Who knows what he has planned?"

"There is always time for sex." Reaver said solemnly, and Garth laughed.

**

Hammer was not amused, and Reaver was. She was acting like a child that had been left out of playtime, and it was all because Reaver and Garth's window antics were the talk of the town. Only, it seemed that no one would say what those antics actually were.

"Seriously, people are either amused, disgusted, or…" she trailed off, gnawing at her lip uncomfortably. Reaver revelled in her discomfort like a kid in a candy store.

"Horny?" he suggested, and Hammer shot him a mortified look.

"Okay, what were you two doing?"

To his credit, Garth was completely calm. He watched over a mug of cool apple juice as Hammer blustered, his face completely expressionless. When Hammer rounded on him, he looked so innocent that it was almost impossible to believe he had taken Reaver for the whole town to see the night before. Reaver was faintly proud of him; not so long ago, Garth would have been blushing furiously at this conversation. Reaver realised he was something of an influence on his Mage.

"You needn't worry too much about it, Hammer," he said calmly, still clutching the mug. He was keeping his hands preoccupied to keep himself from fiddling self-consciously, Reaver knew. "Though if I were you, I'd stay away from the sitting room's front window. Reaver made quite a mess of it last night."

Reaver had to struggle greatly to hold back his laughter. Finally, he managed an indignant huff as he glared at Garth. "It's your fault, Mage. _I _didn't have a choice in the matter. Besides, yourefused to clean it up!"

Garth shrugged. "You weren't complaining at the time," he said simply. "And it's your bodily fluids on the window, not mine. You clean it up."

"I don't want to hear anymore!" Hammer cried, and Reaver didn't hold back his roar of laughter this time. Garth looked faintly amused as he took another sip of his drink. "Oh, Sparrow, get here soon! Save me from these lunatics!"

"You're welcome to join us on any night," Reaver suggested lightly. Hammer flushed brightly.

"Three's a crowd," she said quickly. Garth began to chuckle.

"Reaver would beg to differ."

"That I would, my dear Mage." Reaver was elated to see that Garth was enjoying this as much as he. After all, with Mister Scowls-a-Lot on the way, they needed as much fun as they could get. Reaver was in no hurry to fight, not after the Temple of Shadows. Having to watch Garth scream in agony, eyes screwed shut, arms jerking desperately as he tried to break free of his captors still haunted Reaver. At least when he killed someone, he made it quick.

"If I care any less about what Reaver thinks, I'll pass out." Hammer said flatly. Reaver sighed dramatically.

"Oh, you heard what she said, Mage!" he cried. "You heard! Cruel maiden, I offer my fragile heart to you on a platter, and you devour it mercilessly!" The other two snorted.

"So your heart lies in the bedroom," Garth said thoughtfully. "This explains a few things."

"Or by the front window," Hammer muttered, and the two men descended into laughter.

The front door was flung open with a crash, announcing Sparrow's arrival and effectively silencing any further banter between the three Heroes. Sparrow's boots fell heavy on the wooden floor, and as soon as he reached the dining room he rounded on Reaver.

"What the hell did you do to him," he began slowly, incredulously, "that would make him want to have sex with you in front of the whole of Oakfield?"

"Nothing!" Reaver said innocently, and Garth began to chuckle again.

"To be fair, Sparrow, only two or three people actually saw it," Hammer mumbled. "But something like that makes for great gossip."

"Right." Sparrow ran his hand through his hair. He looked terrible. Dark circles ran deep underneath his eyes, his hair was limp, and his complexion was pallid. When he sat, he flopped down into the chair with a bone deep exhaustion that Reaver knew came from being a parent with a critically injured child. The exhaustion would only disappear once the child was fully healed.

"How is she?" Hammer asked gently. Sparrow sighed heavily.

"Awake. She hasn't gotten out of bed yet." He stretched in the seat, resting his head against the back of the chair, exposing his neck and collarbone more clearly. His skin looked clammy.

"And Keiran?" Garth asked quietly, and Reaver glanced at him blankly. This was news. He hadn't known the boy was injured, though he supposed it really shouldn't have surprised him. The lad was far too brash and impetuous when he fought; it was bound to cost him sooner or later.

"Healed. He's fine." Sparrow's eyes were closed now, his arms hanging limply by his sides. "Alex nearly killed me." Of that, Reaver had no doubt. He could only imagine her reaction when he arrived home with not one, but two injured children.

"But it wasn't your fault!" Hammer protested, and Sparrow shrugged.

"I let those Spire Guards sneak up on us. I should have been paying attention." he said bluntly.

Reaver had had enough of this pity party. Though he understood far too well the attraction of playing the blame game with oneself - he played it just about every night, after all - there was a time and a place for it. Wailing in front of others was weak, pitiful, and left you open for manipulation. Reaver cleared his throat, indicating that they should all pay attention to him now.

"Shall we move on to why we're actually here?" he suggested to Sparrow shortly. Hammer gave him a sharp look and even Garth frowned disapprovingly, but Sparrow nodded.

"I went back to the Temple of Shadows," he muttered. "Not a Guard in sight. They've moved."

"Sparrow, they told Reaver that they're after the _Normanomicon._" Garth said. Sparrow glanced at him.

"The book that raises the dead?" he asked, and Garth nodded. To everyone's surprise, Sparrow gave a short, hollow laugh. "I know where that is. I can get it within two days. Besides, it appears to only invoke the undead, not bring people back to life. Speaking from experience here."

"Oh, is it story time?" Reaver asked sardonically. "Or are you going to leave us to wonder as you so often do?"

"Just for that, wonder." Sparrow snarled. He glanced at Garth. "Well?"

"I've read much about the _Book of the Extremely Dead._" Garth said plainly. "There are arguments for and against what you just said. I'd have to see it for myself to confirm that belief."

"Then I'll bring it to you before I hide it again." Sparrow replied. "I'd destroy it, but apparently I'd be cursed if I did. In any case, unless they can find it within the next few days, the book is nothing to worry about."

"_The Book of the _Extremely _Dead, _you say?" Reaver mused lightly. "I wonder how many times one must die before one can be considered extremely dead?" He looked at Sparrow. "Surely you qualify for that title." he said shortly.

Sparrow actually looked faintly amused. "What an honour." he said dryly. "I've yet to receive my award, though. Anyway, what concerns me is where the Spire Guards are hiding now. They're certainly not at the old Temple anymore."

"Think, Sparrow." Hammer urged hopefully. "Is there anywhere they could be now? A place where they can stay without getting noticed?"

Sparrow sighed and rested his head back against the chair again. "I've really thought about this." he admitted. "I can honestly say that I have no idea. I can't think of anywhere that they might be."

Hammer's air of hope deflated and she sunk back into her chair. Garth stared down into his now empty mug silently, and Sparrow kept his head tilted back, his eyes closed. Reaver sighed. As usual, it was all up to him to pull this party out of their pity.

"There is someone who could tell us." he said, looking expectantly at Sparrow. "What happened to that irritating blind-but-sadly-not-mute woman?"

Sparrow opened his eyes, startled. "Theresa?" he said. "Last I saw her, she was in the Spire."

"I assume that's why the Spire Guards have yet to return there," Garth muttered. "That woman knows magic far beyond the boundaries of my knowledge. This time, I'd like to keep it that way."

Hammer looked at him in surprise. "Why? All knowledge is worth having!" she insisted. Garth smiled wryly.

"Perhaps. But sometimes the consequences aren't worth it." Hammer blinked at him, as though she hadn't thought of that.

"The only way to get to the Spire is by ship," Sparrow said, and he looked at Reaver pointedly. Reaver scowled. So Sparrow completely abolished Albion's best pirate port, threatened Reaver with death if a pirate even stepped a _foot_ into Oakfield, and now he was expecting Reaver to _help _him? He glared at Sparrow with open hatred. He knew where his old crew were now, of course - these days, they preferred to dock in Eire, Albion's neighbouring country - but that didn't mean Reaver was going to call on them. He was actually _fond _of a few of those men, and he didn't trust Sparrow not to kill them once he had what he wanted.

Sparrow caught sight of his face and sighed in despair. "_Please,_ Reaver," he begged. "A Hero has to make this journey, I can feel it, and you're the only one that can captain a ship."

"Then have one of your _lawmen_ sail _you_ out there," Reaver snarled. "No. I'll have nothing to do with it."

"They don't know the waters like you do!" Sparrow insisted. "You're a far better sailor than anyone!" Reaver cocked an eyebrow. Flattery? It wasn't working. He sneered at Sparrow with barely-concealed rage, and Sparrow heaved a desperate sigh. "I want to stay with my family." he admitted.

Reaver scoffed. "Oh, so you want to have your cake and eat it too?" he mocked. "Burn in hell, Sparrow. You dug your own grave on this one; you can damn well climb out of it!"

"I'm not asking you now, I'm telling you!" Sparrow lost his temper. He leapt to his feet, his Will scars glowing brighter by the moment, and Reaver was quick to stand too. Blades appeared around Sparrow's head.

"You'll go, Reaver! Even if I have to force you!" he roared, the Blades now trained on the Thief. Reaver drew his gun, but he knew he couldn't defend himself against magic. And if those Blades were anything like Garth's, they would protect Sparrow from his shots, so going on the offensive was useless too. Despite this, he sneered defiantly, his pistol aimed at the point between Sparrow's eyes.

"Try it!" he snapped, and Sparrow yelled angrily. The Blades fired. Reaver just managed to shoot away two, and prepared himself for the pain, for the almost-certain death that would come of getting skewered by so many blades at once. But it never came. The Blades shattered before they struck him, as though running into an invisible wall.

He blinked. A single Blade was floating above his head, ready to shield him again if needed. Garth hadn't moved from his seat, but his gaze was trained unblinking on Reaver, his face a mask of concentration. Reaver stared back at him in surprise. Never had he expected Garth to take an active role against Sparrow for him. Guilt stabbed him in his chest, annoying him. He had almost forgotten that they were after _Garth_ as well as Sparrow.

How irritating. He would _have _to go now, lest he lose his Mage to the Spire Guards. When had he become so fond of Garth? It was infuriating.

Garth glanced at Sparrow calmly as the king rounded on him.

"You-"

"You can be more diplomatic than that." Garth said shortly, and Sparrow's rage left him as quickly as it came. He fell back into his seat, his head in his hands.

"Sparrow?" Hammer tried tentatively, her eyes wide and her knuckles white as she clutched onto the side of the table. Cautiously, Reaver tucked away his pistol, but he remained standing. Sparrow was a volatile man.

"What do you want, Reaver?" Sparrow asked heavily, not looking up. Reaver sneered.

"More freedom, of course." It wasn't fair. If he tried to live as he pleased in Albion, Sparrow would be after him. If he left Albion, the Shadow Judges would eventually come after him. He cursed the blemish on the face of humanity that was Sparrow. He couldn't win.

But he could compromise. Especially with Garth on his side. The Mage had yet to dismiss the Blade hovering above Reaver protectively. His face was unreadable as he eyed Sparrow.

"Freedom doesn't mean you can go around killing whoever you please," Sparrow murmured, and Reaver knew this was an argument he would never win. No matter how dire the situation, Sparrow would never allow an innocent to die. _Unless it's to save his family's lives. _Reaver noted wryly. Thousands were allowed to die then.

He shot Garth a helpless look. He had no idea what to ask for, beyond his freedom request, and he didn't want to waste this opportunity. Garth examined him thoughtfully for a moment before speaking.

"Disband the town council," he said firmly. "Let Reaver run this place on his own."

Reaver stared at him in astonishment, wondering why he had ever tried to deal with Sparrow without him. Garth gave him a small smile, knowing that his request had more than thrilled Reaver.

Sparrow glanced from Garth to Reaver, and sighed heavily. "So that's it, then." he muttered. "I don't know…"

"Hammer will still be here to keep an eye on things for you," Garth said, and at that, Hammer nodded. He hadn't included himself, Reaver noted with interest. It was probably because Garth wasn't going to spy on him for Sparrow, whatever the cost. That, or he knew Sparrow wouldn't trust him fully after he defended Reaver.

"It'll be all right, Sparrow," Hammer soothed. "I know he's a cad, but he's smart enough to run this place without too much trouble!" She shot Reaver a look, as though begging him to confirm her statement, and Reaver grinned at her.

"True enough," he said, and Hammer visibly relaxed. Perhaps she wasn't so bad after all, he mused. She had certainly been tolerable this past week. He still abhorred her complete lack of femininity though.

Sparrow looked at her for a moment, undoubtedly weighing up his decision in his mind. Finally, he sighed in defeat. "Fine." he said. "Consider it gone." He didn't look happy at all. Reaver smirked at him, but resisted the urge to rub it in his face further.

"I'll pen a letter to my first mate then, shall I?" he said lightly. Truth be told, he was rather looking forward to seeing the man. Leonardo was probably the most competent man he had ever had on his crew. "Oh, and another thing: one of you _will _be coming with me. I'm not heading into that glorified eyesore by myself."

"I'll go," Garth said, before anyone else could reply. "Sparrow should stay with his family, and Hammer is needed here." Despite his resolve, he looked faintly sick, and something ached dully in Reaver's chest to see it. He went over to him, and rested his hand on the Mage's shoulder.

"A pleasure cruise, then!" he declared, smiling down at Garth, trying to make the man _relax _again. "You'll love it, Mage!"

Garth smiled faintly up at him. "Given the destination, it doesn't sound particularly pleasurable." he muttered. Reaver's expression softened and he brushed his knuckles against Garth's Will scarred cheek.

"Technically, our ultimate destination is Albion." he said, and Garth chuckled.

"I'll give you that one. But I do tend to get sea sick for the first few days."

"No matter, we have potions that can take care of that." Reaver said dismissively. He looked at Sparrow, who had been watching them with a startled expression. "My guess is it will be a week's worth of sailing before we get there?" he asked.

Sparrow frowned thoughtfully. "Eight days," he said at length. "That's how long it took us to get back, wasn't it?" He looked at Garth.

Garth nodded. "The weather had been fine, too. Though the ship wasn't exactly first-rate, and that fool of a captain…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

Reaver laughed. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it," he soothed, running his finger absent-mindedly around the shell of Garth's ear. "We'll be in and out of there before you know it. Now excuse me, I have a letter to write."


	12. The Charon

Ten days passed before Reaver received a reply from his old crew. After about a week, Sparrow had tried to nag Reaver over the delay, but Reaver had simply reminded him sharply whose fault it was that there were no pirates in Albion. Sparrow had left him alone after that.

After the meeting, Reaver had tentatively approached Garth, his hesitation only apparent in the slight change to his posture. His shoulders weren't thrown back and his head wasn't held as high, his usual air of arrogance deflated.

"How did you know what to ask Sparrow for?" he demanded, and Garth knew for sure then that sometime during that meeting, his pride had been bruised.

_It could have been worse,_ Garth reminded himself sternly. _Sparrow could have killed him._ He was lucky to have foreseen that argument getting out of hand, because it took a great deal of concentration for him to defend others with his Blades. He had begun to gather his Will as soon as Reaver refused.

"You were always complaining about that council. I figured you would want them to leave you alone." he replied. Reaver's refusal had hurt him - after all, he needed Reaver to sail to the Spire as much as Sparrow did - but he understood. Reaver would not have been thinking about Garth, only about how much he hated Sparrow, about how much his rejection would insult Sparrow. Garth had probably only crossed his mind later.

"Should I have asked for something else?" Garth added. Reaver shook his head.

"No." he muttered, and sighed. "No, Mage," he said again, louder this time. "You did well. I… I'm grateful."

Garth forced himself to keep his face impassive as Reaver stepped forward. His fingers trailed across Garth's cheek gently before he gave Garth's lips a chaste kiss.

"I would have agreed to go eventually," he murmured, his fingers still stroking Garth's cheek. "But not for _him_."

With that he broke away and left the room, leaving Garth reeling. Outside the bedroom, Reaver never showed such tender affection. It left Garth confused, overwhelmed, and almost desperate for more. Reaver was an infuriating man.

True to his word, Sparrow brought the _Normanomicon _for Garth to study within days of the meeting. Sparrow didn't meet his eye as he handed the book over, though whether it was because he was angry that Garth had defended Reaver, or because Reaver was hovering in the background, watching him mistrustfully, Garth couldn't tell.

"Thank you, Sparrow," Garth said honestly, though he was reluctant to touch it. He knew the book was made of human skin; even if he hadn't read about it, he would have been able to tell. Such an object was surely a foretoken of back luck. He flicked through the pages cautiously. They were filled with runic symbols and ancient words, the likes of which Garth usually only encountered when he studied Old Kingdom artefacts.

"Him, Garth?" Sparrow muttered finally, his eyes flickering upwards to glance over Garth's shoulder at the man standing vigilant in the doorway. "Really?"

"Really." Garth said shortly. He wasn't about to have this conversation again. "Have you any other secrets of his to tell me in the hopes I might start to hate him, or are we done here? If you have some complaining to do, go tell Hammer. She's nice enough to listen."

Sparrow scowled. "I'll be back for that tomorrow morning," he said coldly. "So make the most of it now." With that he brushed past Garth and bumped shoulders with Reaver on his way to the front door, though Garth couldn't tell whose fault that was.

"You've found the magic words that make him go away!" Reaver exclaimed, grinning. "You truly _are _the greatest Mage in the world!" Garth laughed at that.

Reaver had to wrestle the vile book from Garth's hands to get him to come to bed that night.

Sparrow knocked on the door at the crack of dawn. Garth answered it groggily (Reaver had refused), cursing whoever thought it a bright idea to invent mornings. He all but shoved the book back into Sparrow's hands, wondering why he hadn't invented a spell that could freeze time completely. Sparrow looked at him expectantly.

Garth scowled. "From the _little _time I had with it," he stressed irritably. "I can gather that there are spells both to raise the dead, _and _bring the dead back to life. The latter is an extremely complicated spell. If Lucien's men managed to get a hold of it, I highly doubt they would be able to actually _use _it."

Sparrow nodded simply and left, and Garth trudged back upstairs to fucking _sleep._ Mornings and Sparrow made for an awful formula.

Reaver's reply arrived late at night, by carrier pigeon. Reaver tore open the seal and read, his face expressionless the whole time. Garth was curious to read it too, but he refrained from looking over Reaver's shoulder; he knew Reaver hated that.

Finally, Reaver gave a low chuckle. "Oh, Leonardo, you little minx," he murmured provocatively, and Garth scowled. Suddenly he wasn't all that interested in reading the letter, lest jealousy rear its ugly head within him. Reaver glanced at him as he tucked the letter into his bedside table's drawer.

"They left as soon as they received my letter," he said shortly. "They should be here within days." A small smile played involuntarily across his lips, and Garth knew he was eager to get back to sea. That, or he was excited to see this _Leonardo_. Garth managed to keep the scowl from his face this time.

"Aren't they afraid of going to the Spire?" he asked curiously instead. Reaver shrugged as he climbed back into bed.

"Probably, but they also believe I can shoot any enemy without trouble," he replied. "Which _is _true, but these Spire fellows take a fair few shots to die, unless one gets them right between the eyes. Or in that soft spot at the back of their skull," he added thoughtfully. "At any rate, we should get as much rest as we can. They will arrive any day now and if I'm not there to greet him, Leonardo will sleep his way through the town until he finds me."

Garth scoffed. "You're not that hard to find," he pointed out flatly. Reaver grinned wickedly at him as he wrapped an arm around Garth's shoulders, pulling him close.

"I never claimed to be." he said simply, and Garth groaned. Of _course_ Reaver's favourite crew member would turn out to be a hedonist.

**

Truthfully, Garth couldn't recall Reaver's old ship; he had only caught sight of it briefly before the Great Shard destroyed it. But as it sailed closer to Oakfield, Garth couldn't help but admire this one. It was a wonderful colour of mahogany, with tall, proud sails, and it looked as large as Lucien's ship had been when he first set out for the Spire. It certainly suited Reaver.

"What did you call her?" he asked Reaver, as they stood on the docks, watching it anchor. As it was, the waters around the Oakfield docks were too shallow for a ship like that to pull in, so they would have to catch a rowboat to it.

Reaver glanced at him in surprise. Garth had admitted the previous night that he knew next to nothing about ships, but he _did _know that they always had a name. And for some reason, they were always female.

"_Charon_," Reaver replied simply, and Garth smiled. _That _certainly suited Reaver, too.

A rowboat left the ship, growing closer, rowed by only two of Reaver's crew. As they neared the shore, one of the men stood up, shouting incomprehensibly to Reaver as he waved his arms animatedly. A shout from the other man forced him to sit back down, and Reaver chuckled.

"Well, that's just typical," he commented lightly, and Garth gave him an alarmed look.

"And these are the men we're to be sailing with?" he asked. Reaver laughed.

"They are far more competent than they appear," he replied simply, and Garth didn't feel reassured in the slightest.

As they pulled up to the docks, the man that had stood jumped from the boat, not even bothering to wait for it to be tethered. He was a handsome man, his skin the same golden brown as Reaver's, only deeper. His long, dark hair was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, the bangs too short to be tied framing his face strikingly. His dark eyes lit up with joy as he all but bounded up to Reaver.

"Ah, Captain! It has been far too long, yes? You look well." He spoke with a thick accent, stumbling over the clearly foreign words. His natural charm more than made up for his clumsy Alban, and as much as Garth didn't want to, he found himself liking this man.

"Leonardo," Reaver chuckled fondly, hands held out in front of him. "I trust the journey here wasn't too difficult?"

Leonardo took Reaver's hands in his own, squeezing them tightly. "No, no. No trouble." He glanced over Reaver's shoulder at Garth curiously, his dark eyes scanning the Mage. "This is he, yes? Your companion."

"Indeed." Reaver stepped away from his first mate, presenting him to Garth. "This is Leonardo, Garth. You needn't be shy around him," he added, seeing Garth's hesitant gaze.

"Leon is my nickname. You call me that." Leon grinned as Garth nodded, and held out his hand for Garth to shake. "The Captain, he says interesting things about you. Did you know that?"

"No," Garth replied, startled. Without letting go of Garth's hand, Leon rounded on Reaver.

"Shame on you, Captain! Such things should be said, not written!"

"Things like what?" Garth asked curiously. Reaver scowled as Leon grinned cheekily at him.

"Away with you-"

"He says, you are not free, not to be touched. Do you disagree?" Leon asked hopefully, but Garth shook his head.

"No, I don't." he said shortly, pulling his hand free of Leon's grasp. Leon wailed melodramatically.

"Captain Reaver, you never share, you! So possessive you are! And now, I shall not have either of you!" He leaned in closer to Garth, as though he were about to reveal a big secret. "He likes you, he does. He liked me too, but it is not the same, no! My people, they have a word for this, but Alban is clunky. Focused so little on beauty and love, so harsh is it. No doubt you have noticed, I am unskilled."

Garth suddenly realised where he had seen that look of utter admiration before. Keiran. It was exactly the same expression Keiran would give Reaver. But where Keiran's infatuation was innocent, Garth had no doubt that Leon had acted on his many times.

Pushing his jealous thoughts from his head, Garth forced himself to chuckle. "Your grasp on the language is far better than some native speakers I've met." he replied. Leon beamed, but his reply was cut off by an irritated shout from the other pirate.

"You fucking arse, you wait until the boat is secure before you run off!" the man raged. He looked at Reaver and pointed at Leon accusingly. "He still does it, Reaver! He's all raring to go when there's fun to be had, but as soon as the necessary but boring jobs pop up, he's off like a rat up a drainpipe. Oh yeah, and hello."

Reaver shook his head. "Beat the enthusiasm out of him, then." he suggested simply. "I can't do anything about it."

"We tried whacking him over the head with a two-by-four, but that only put him to sleep for a coupla hours." The pirate shrugged and looked curiously at Garth. "Who's he, then? You his new toy?"

Garth scowled. This was going to be a _long _trip. "Something like that," he replied, forcing himself to keep his cool. The pirate grinned and slapped Leon on the back.

"He's from Samarkand, you can hear it!" he declared, and Leon laughed. "Told you this one wouldn't be Alban! What's your name, then?"

"Garth."

"That's not a Samarkand name. They had names like… like…" The pirate faltered, scratching his head in puzzlement. "Well, I'll be damned! I can't remember!" he laughed. "I was screaming them all the nights we were there, too!" He held out his hand to Garth. "My name's Kevin." he said cheerily.

**

It was easy to tell which of the men had sailed with Reaver, and which of them hadn't. Those loyal to the Thief pressed forward as soon as he stepped foot on deck, shouting greetings and teasing obscenities. Those who had never met him lingered in the back, some interested, some glaring at Reaver with curious hatred. Garth supposed they didn't consider Reaver their Captain. They probably resented him for forcing them to sail this far. Garth would have to point that out to Reaver later, in case the Thief hadn't noticed yet.

Garth sat a little way away from the group, content with simply watching the little reunion. A hand dropped onto his shoulder and he looked up into the leering face of one of the pirates that had been watching Reaver hatefully. The man leaned in, breathing his foul breath across Garth's face.

"Who're you, eh? You 'ere to 'ave some fun?" the pirate gawped at him, and Garth felt disgusted. He had seen that look on some Spire Guards' faces before, and he had to fight to keep the panic down.

Then he realised he had no time for these idiots, let alone the ones that were disloyal to Reaver. With an exasperated sigh, he threw a handful of fire into the man's face. The man screamed, and all attention was turned on Garth. He could hear Reaver laughing over the chatter, and felt a little better.

"You fuckin' bas-" The pirate's threat was cut off as Reaver shot him, his body falling lifeless to the deck, his cutlass tumbling from his hand. Garth's panic died completely now, knowing that Reaver was still keeping an eye on him. Reaver beckoned him over, and Garth complied gladly.

"I thought you had told them," Reaver muttered to Leon. Leon frowned.

"I did," he said, and several men around him nodded to confirm this. "The newer ones, they do not listen. They are too arrogant."

Reaver sighed long-sufferingly and wrapped his arm around Garth's shoulders, pulling him close. "Listen to me, all of you." he announced, his voice gaining a commanding edge. "Lay _one _hand on the Mage and you'll end up like that fellow over there!"

"Yeah: a real ugly corpse!" Garth recognised Kevin's voice from somewhere to the left of him. Reaver's crew all burst into laughter.

"Reaver, these new men feel no loyalty to you," Garth warned quietly. "They've never met you before."

Reaver blinked down at him before sighing again. "Understandable, but unacceptable." he replied softly. "I'll keep an eye on them."

"You ain't my Captain!" someone called, well and truly confirming Garth's statement. Garth didn't even see the man until Reaver shot him.

"Anymore statements like that and you'll end up like _that _fellow," Reaver said plainly, tucking his gun away. The newer members stared at him in horror, but his old crew laughed boisterously; they were obviously used to this sort of thing.

Once the laughter died down, Leon eyed Garth curiously. "So, you are a wizard, yes? Captain Reaver did not mention that. Those lines, they are… Will? I was curious, but wished not to be rude."

Garth didn't want to like this man. He hated the way he looked at Reaver, the way Reaver spoke so fondly of him. But Leon's natural charisma and handsome smile made him almost impossible to dislike. Before he really knew what was happening, Garth found himself smiling back at the man. He felt Reaver's arm around him tighten.

"Come, Captain, I have kept your cabin well. Wizard Garth, you follow too." Leon beckoned to them. "Kevin will sail her out. Oh, no worries!" he added hastily, seeing Reaver cock an eyebrow. "He is good, Kevin. Rarely crashes into rocks, ever!" The crew snorted with laughter and Kevin received a few teasing thumps on the back.

At length, Reaver nodded his consent. Kevin bowed deeply. "An honour, Sir." he said mockingly, and Reaver scoffed.

"Come now, you!" Leon demanded impatiently, gesturing to a door that most likely led deeper into the ship. When he began tugging on Reaver's sleeve without consequence, Garth knew that this man _definitely _received special treatment from Reaver. Why, he didn't know.

Reaver allowed himself to be tugged, leading Garth with him. He paused in the doorway briefly to warn the newer crew in particular, "I haven't shot anyone in a long time. My trigger finger is happy. You'll want to watch yourselves." before he descended the steps leading to the cabin.

Leon chatted the whole way. He would probably get along well with Hammer, Garth noted dryly.

"We missed you, Captain, we did." Leon was saying. "No longer can we capture ships with a single bullet. We must fight now, and so we need brawn, not so much brains, on crew."

"I guessed," Reaver replied simply. He hadn't removed his arm from Garth's shoulders.

"Ah, that is why I am not dead, no?" Leon teased. "That first man you killed, he was a competent fighter, but no brains, none. That second one, he thought he was brilliant. You showed him, you. I missed you."

"I left you in charge, Leonardo. You can shoot whoever you please."

"Ah, yes, yes, but I prefer blades. Not as quick, but pretty, very pretty."

Though Garth had nothing to compare it to, the Captain's cabin was lovely, and looked like it had come straight out of Reaver's own home. Cabinets lined one wall, shined to perfection, their locked doors barely rattling as the ship gave a sickening lurch. Underneath the long, thin window ran a little cushioned bench, and Garth smiled, remembering the bench they had all but defaced back home. In the centre of the cabin was a small, round table and chair, polished as well as the cabinets. There were two sets of drawers, and finally, there was a large bunk built against the opposite wall to the door, its edges raised to keep its occupant from tumbling out on high seas.

When the ship lurched, indicating that they had set sail, Garth gasped and stumbled, clutching onto Reaver for support. He briefly wondered why the furniture wasn't moving about, before realising that everything was bolted down. Reaver didn't even seem bothered by the sudden movement, and held Garth up easily.

Leon noticed. "No sea legs, Wizard Garth?" he asked kindly. "No matter! You will learn. For now, you sit. That bunk, it is surprisingly comfortable. Do not sit on the edge, no, or you will have a strange mark on your buttocks." He held out his hand to lead Garth to the bunk, and Garth hesitantly took it.

Reaver was laughing. "Do you speak from experience there, Leonardo?" he asked. Leon grinned as he helped Garth climb over the bunk's edge.

"A little, yes." He stepped away from the bunk and made his way easily back over to Reaver. "While you were gone, I thought to keep it warm. Alas! Your elegance escapes me." Reaver laughed again.

They did look handsome together, Garth mused. They were roughly the same height, and Leon's outfit was far simpler than Reaver's. His white blouse was loose, V-necked, and cuffed in at the wrists. He wore simple brown trousers, tucked into calf-high boots, and he was clean; most of Reaver's crew were. Reaver had high standards for his crew, and Leon met them easily. How many times must they have tumbled, naked, into this very bunk? Garth tried to push the image of the men having sex from his mind, but to no avail.

Until Reaver and Leon began to converse in another language. Garth easily forgot about everything else then.

The language was beautiful. Melodic and enchanting, it flowed from their mouths like a siren's song, and Garth could only listen, wondering why he had never asked Reaver to speak Aragonian to him before. Hell, he had forgotten that Reaver could.

Of course, it made sense that Leon was from Aragonia. His startling handsomeness, his stated preference for his own language over Alban, that _accent…_ And it explained Reaver's obvious favouritism. How often would he have a chance to speak the language outside of the country?

"He likes this," Leon commented suddenly, and Garth realised that both men were looking at him. He blushed faintly and looked away.

"Did he not know you could speak this?" Leon asked Reaver curiously. Reaver shrugged.

"He did, but he probably forgot. I don't exactly rattle off in it at home." He went over to Garth and, despite Leon's earlier warning, perched himself on the edge of the bunk carelessly. "You're suddenly so shy," he murmured softly, forcing Garth to look at him. "You were fine last week."

Garth raised an eyebrow at him. "Last week I wasn't on a ship full of pirates, sailing out to the Spire." he reminded the Thief bluntly. Reaver blinked.

"Ah." he nodded, and suddenly grinned. "So I suppose I shouldn't bother to request you tie me to the mast and have your way with me?" he asked cheekily, startling Garth into laughter.

"No, probably not," he agreed.

Leon looked faintly uncomfortable as he watched them, shifting his weight from foot to foot agitatedly. "Ah, Captain. The course is mapped, but you should check. You know these things, you do." He interrupted hesitantly, as though he didn't want to bother them.

Reaver sighed as he stood up. "All right," he agreed, and they began to speak in that beautiful language again. Leon spoke quickly, confidently in comparison to his Alban. Reaver was slightly slower, and probably had an accent, though Garth certainly couldn't tell. Leon retrieved a map from one of the cabinets and spread it out across the table, murmuring to Reaver. Reaver answered, his voice sounding a little deeper than when he spoke Alban, and Garth closed his eyes to simply _listen _to it. Why the _hell _had he never asked Reaver to speak to him in Aragonian before?

He suddenly heard his name, harsh and startling amidst the music, and he opened his eyes to see Leon retrieving something from a different cabinet. He hurried over to Garth, a small vial in his hands.

"The Captain, he says you can get seasick, no?" He grinned when Garth nodded. "No matter! You drink this." He held out the vial. Garth eyed it dubiously, remembering the last little vial that he had encountered. Or rather, that _Reaver _had. Leon saw his hesitation and shook his head. "It tastes bad, yes, but it will settle you. You will sleep for some hours, then wake fresh. Your head will not be over the side on this voyage, no, no!"

Garth looked over at Reaver. Reaver glanced up from the table to give him a reassuring nod, and Garth took the vial. The stuff certainly tasted awful, and he pulled a face as he downed it. Leon laughed.

"Wonderful, no? Tastes like Alban beer." He took the empty vial from Garth's hands. "You will sleep now, Wizard Garth, and you will dream good dreams. About me, yes?" He grinned as Garth chuckled.

"Have you ever thought that perhaps the users of that stuff don't get seasick because they're too busy sleeping off its effects?" he asked bluntly. Leon blinked and looked over at Reaver, who shrugged.

"It's entirely possible, though only the Mage would be cynical enough to think of it." he replied, a note of affection detectable in his voice. Leon frowned.

"What is this word, _may-ige?_" he demanded. Reaver murmured something in Aragonian, before pronouncing the word in Alban again. Leon nodded slowly, his grin returning. "Aha, this is you! Same as wizard," he said to Garth, who nodded in confirmation. Earlier, he had thought Leon was charming in spite of his clumsy Alban. Now, he thought that added to it. "_Mayge _Garth. Hm, no." He paused, frowning. "It is awkward on my tongue. Wizard Garth suits, yes."

Garth wondered why Leon felt the need to give him a title in the first place. "Garth will suffice," he said shortly, and Leon gaped at him.

"Oh, no, no! You are deserving, yes! Wizard Garth… hm." He suddenly grinned cheekily, glancing over at Reaver. "Magical Garth? No. Wondrous Garth, yes! No, _Handsome _Garth! Very handsome, yes!"

"Titles are a normal way to show your respect in Aragonia, Mage." Reaver muttered. "Just let him go. And _you_," he pointed to Leon, "shut up!"

"…Jealous Reaver! That suits!" Leon concluded, and Garth couldn't help but chuckle. "You sleep now, you. And you dream - of me, remember! - and we will be out at sea when you wake." He looked over at Reaver. "He will be cold, he will. Samarkand blood is cold, they are used to the warm weather."

"He's lived most of his life in Albion, he'll be fine." Reaver muttered. Garth felt a wave of drowsiness overtake him as Reaver returned to the bunk's side. "Lie down, Mage." he said gruffly. "If you come up on deck when you wake, be careful. It would be a pain to have to fish you out of the sea."

"I can't swim very well," Garth admitted sleepily. Reaver sighed.

"A double pain, then." He took Garth's monocle from him, and Garth found that he didn't even have the energy to protest. He allowed Reaver to push him back onto the bunk and as his eyes slipped closed, he felt Reaver's hand stroke his cheek.

* * *

AN: I apologise for the fluff overdose in this chapter.


	13. Something More

When Garth woke, the ship was rocking. He groaned and sat up, gasping when he was suddenly lurched to the side. He braced himself against the wall and looked around when he heard chuckling. One of Reaver's crewmen was standing in front of one of the cabinets, unlocking it.

"Kevin?" Garth tried groggily, recalling the man's name. Kevin was from Albion, with sun-bleached, cropped hair, deeply tanned skin, thin lips and green eyes. His mischievous grin reminded Garth of Reaver as he pulled something from the cabinet.

"Aye, mate," he answered, locking the door again. He headed over to the bunk. "Leon said you'd took that seasickness stuff. None of the lads were envious." He held out his hand, Garth's monocle clutched within his fist. Garth took it with thanks and began to fasten it back over his eye.

"We've all had it at least once," Kevin continued lightly, his eyes trained on the wall opposite instead of on Garth as he fixed his eyeglass. _Reaver must have warned him,_ the Mage realised dimly. "Leon reckons it tastes like Alban grog, but that's only because the piss he's used to is as fruity as fuck."

"Why are you down here?" Garth asked curiously. As he began to climb out of the bunk, the ship rocked again and threw him sideways. Kevin grasped his forearm firmly, steadying him.

"Woah there, mate. You won't be able to last on deck if you can't keep yourself steady." the pirate warned. He ran his hand through his hair. "Captain's orders, yeah? Reaver said not to let you come running out onto deck. It'd be a pain in the arse if you fell overboard while a Kraken is attackin'. Oi, hear that? I rhymed!" he laughed in amusement.

Garth only frowned at him. "A Kraken?" He knew the beast, having read about it long ago. A squid of gargantuan size, said to have a taste for ships. He had no idea if this was true, having never actually encountered the creature, so he kept quiet. Kevin caught the discomfort on his face though.

"Eh, don't worry, it's probably just hungry, or maybe threatened." he said simply. Garth cocked an eyebrow at him and he blinked. "Er, that sounded more reassuring in my head. Anyway, Reaver's scaring it off."

"Scaring it off?"

"You know, shootin' its arm-things until it runs away with its arm-things between its… arm-things."

"Tentacles?"

"Yeah, them. Oi, where are you going?" Kevin grabbed for Garth as he began to totter his way towards the door. He caught Garth's wrist. "Reaver says you ain't to go out there!"

Garth raised an eyebrow. Was Reaver his babysitter now? He certainly didn't appreciate this metaphorical chain Reaver was trying to keep him on, even if the Thief believed it was for Garth's own good. It didn't sit well with Garth; it reminded him too much of the leash Sparrow had Reaver on. He wondered how Reaver would react if Garth were to point out his hypocrisy.

Besides, he was curious to see this creature. And he didn't particularly like the idea of Reaver having to face it alone. His magic could help, and he could prove to these men that he wasn't just some inconvenient guest, reliant on Reaver. Because, judging from the way Kevin was staring at him now, that was how they saw him. It irritated him.

He wrenched his wrist from Kevin's grasp and continued his way to the door. Kevin grabbed him again, this time by the shoulders.

"Reaver says you ain't to go! He doesn't want you falling overboard!" he snapped in frustration. Garth sighed and began to charge a Shock spell. Kevin's eyes widened. "Or maybe I'm wrong, I dunno. He wasn't too clear about it…"

"Good man," Garth growled, freeing himself from the pirate's grasp again. Kevin scoffed as he followed Garth to the deck.

"Spoken by a bloke who doesn't know me."

Garth flung open the cabin door as the ship lurched so violently that even a few of the crew staggered. Kevin caught Garth by the waist to steady him, cursing under his breath. The men were stabbing and shooting at the arms as they coiled up the ship's side, none daring to lean too far over the side in case they fell. Garth could hear Reaver shouting from somewhere above him.

"You back for more, are you? You overgrown octopus!" He actually sounded like he was _enjoying _himself. Garth shook his head, wondering why he had ever expected otherwise.

Well, Reaver wasn't worried, and the crew didn't seem too bothered, so it probably wasn't all that great an emergency. Garth braced himself against the wall and moved to the stairs leading to the quarter deck. Reaver blinked in surprise and cocked an eyebrow when he saw Garth hurry over to him, but said nothing.

"I insisted on coming out," Garth muttered. Reaver shook his head, grinning reluctantly.

"Of course you did." The ship rocked again, and Reaver pulled Garth up against him with one arm. In his free hand he clutched his pistol, which he fired several times as a tentacle suddenly surged up the side of the ship nearby. It retreated quickly, and a water-muffled roar of pain was heard from somewhere in the water.

"Blasted thing, I've had quite enough of it." Reaver muttered. He reloaded his weapon, Garth still in his arms. "It's too big for a few gunshots. Can you kill it?" he asked flatly. Garth considered him thoughtfully.

"Where is it?" he asked. "The body, I mean," he added quickly, seeing Reaver's deadpan look. Reaver frowned.

"Directly underneath the ship, I believe." he replied. "It won't come out. When it retreats, it will just dive deeper."

Garth sighed. He didn't want to risk damaging the ship. He glanced up at the masts and noted that the sails weren't out. The wind was strong. It could work…

"Can you open those?" he asked, nodding towards them. "I think the sudden movement would take it by surprise. The ship would be pulled free of it."

Reaver frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose," he replied slowly. "But the wind would blow us _back _to Albion."

"And? I just need it to be free of the ship."

Reaver sighed. "Fine," he grumbled, and began shouting orders at his crew.

Another tentacle rose up, but this time it was Leon who attacked. Twin blades in his hands, he leapt up onto the ship's edge in front of the arm, balancing easily. He crossed the blades in front of him and slashed out, leaving a huge gash in the creature's arm. It retreated, and he back flipped off the edge, landing steadily. "You take that, you!" he shouted triumphantly, even as another crewmember yelled "Show-off!" Garth could only admire the man's graceful acrobatics.

The sudden backwards heave of the ship threw almost everyone off their feet. Garth and Reaver crashed into the railing, Reaver managing to steady them both before they toppled over it. Garth tore himself from Reaver's grasp, wasting no time in running across the main deck and up to the beakhead, the steady footsteps following him telling him that Reaver was close behind.

He could see the thing's outline in the water. It was about three-quarters the length of the _Charon_, not nearly as big as the monster he had imagined. He had to keep it from retreating back underneath the ship.

_Vortex._

A whirlpool opened up, catching it in its midst. Garth concentrated, commanding the powerful spell to rise out of the water, bringing the creature with it. It thrashed and roared, trying to tear itself free of Garth's grasp, and Garth knew he had to distance it from the ship, quickly.

His Force Push spell had enough power behind it to rock the ship. Reaver cursed and clutched onto Garth, but Garth had no _time _to fall over. Electricity burst forth from his fingertips, covering the distance easily and hitting the slippery creature with a fizzing roar. He felt the hot surge of power through his body, seeming to come from deeper within him with every moment that passed. Finally he broke it off, panting, as the creature fell back into the water.

The silence that followed was deafening, a sharp contrast to the roaring of the sea monster moments before. The only sounds now were that of the men struggling to close the sails. Finally, Reaver chuckled, his arms still around Garth's waist.

"Why on earth I tried to deal with that squid without you is beyond me," he admitted into Garth's ear, so only the Mage could hear. Garth blushed at the enormous compliment.

"Is it dead?" one of the pirates asked tentatively.

"If it ain't, it's feelin' very sorry for itself." Kevin sounded amused. Garth glanced over his shoulder; the man had taken the wheel. He supposed then that without Reaver around, Kevin was Leon's first mate.

Leon roared with laughter, and soon enough the entire crew were laughing and cheering triumphantly. Over the shouts, Garth could hear Leon's voice, "You fish it out, yes? Seafood tonight and forever!"

Reaver chuckled lowly and pressed a kiss to the side of Garth's neck, sending shivers down his spine. He led Garth back onto the main deck, where he was greeted with rough, awe-filled compliments and light thumps on the back. Someone joked that Garth should be given an eye patch to wear instead of his monocle whilst he was on the ship, and just like that, he was something more than a minor inconvenience to the crew.

**

The further they sailed out to sea, the further away the Spire seemed to become. Reaver glared at the hateful thing, as though doing so would scare it into coming closer. No luck.

His crew respected Garth much more after the Kraken incident. In their eyes, he had proven his worth. Sailing had been smooth so far, and so many of the men were free. A handful of them challenged Garth to a game of cards, and then playfully banned him when he kept winning. Garth smiled faintly at them, sometimes engaging them in playful banter, sometimes just shrugging them off. They understood his withdrawn behaviour; Reaver had warned them that the Spire was something of a nightmare for him. And as the days passed, Garth grew more and more aloof.

He still spoke to Reaver when they were out of earshot, easily able to voice his concerns. He was still unsure about many of the crew, Leonardo in particular. Reaver chuckled softly. He knew that Garth was faintly jealous of the man.

"He is the last thing I expected to find in a pirate," Garth had murmured, as Reaver steered his beloved ship. He had forgotten the incredible feeling of freedom that came with captaining a ship. Here in the open sea, it was as though nothing could touch him. He could go wherever he wanted, and do whatever he wished. He felt much more content at sea than he did on land, where Sparrow and the Shadow Judges and now the Spire Guards were all waiting to get their hands on him.

He chuckled at Garth's concern. "He is rambunctiously childish sometimes," he agreed simply. "But he's shrewd. And you have yet to see him truly fight. He's as breathtaking as he is deadly with his blades."

Garth scowled slightly, and Reaver held back his sigh. Of course he had slept with Leonardo before, and he wouldn't be opposed to doing it again. But at the end of the day…

"You shouldn't worry so much, Mage," he said softly. He trailed his fingers down one of the larger Will scars on Garth's arm. "Eventually he will leave, and you will stay with me. At home."

Garth stared at him before looking away quickly, but not so quick that Reaver didn't catch his red cheeks.

Though Garth rarely socialised, it didn't stop Leonardo from seeking him out. Reaver truly had no idea what his former lover thought of Garth; the man was far too good at hiding his emotions. And Garth couldn't escape him; he had no sanctuary on this ship. Even as he stood by Reaver, leaning on the railings as Reaver steered the ship, Leonardo would talk to him.

"Your eye is blind, yes?" the man was saying. Reaver paused, having forgotten to warn him that this subject was off-limits. "What happened? An accident?"

Garth's shoulders tensed and he stared pointedly up at the main mast. "No," he replied thickly, and Reaver felt an overwhelming urge to pull the man close. "It was deliberate."

"An attack, then?" Leonardo pushed, seemingly oblivious to Garth's anxiety. Or, more likely, he _had _noticed and it piqued his curiosity. "Who did it? What happened?"

"Leonardo, _leave him alone,_" Reaver warned in the man's native language. Leonardo glanced at him in surprise, but startlingly, Garth spoke.

"Someone that should have been the last person to harm me," he said shortly. He looked at Reaver, his expression sharp and meaningful. "It was burned."

Reaver could only stare at him. Was Garth finally ready to tell him what happened? He had to admit, his curiosity hadn't waned at all ever since he had first asked about it, when Garth arrived in Oakfield. But now, he wasn't sure he was ready to hear it. It sounded like it caused Garth a world of pain, and whenever Reaver thought of the Mage in pain, he would get an aching tightness in his chest that he simply refused to name. Swallowing, he nodded slowly to his lover.

Leonardo glanced between the two, their unspoken exchange leaving him looking uncomfortable. When Garth finally broke eye contact with Reaver, the pirate spoke again.

"The Captain, he likes pretty girls." he said, and both Heroes stared at him, taken by surprise at this sudden statement. Leonardo grinned at Garth. "Delicate wallflowers, intelligent, but so very weak. But his men, he likes interesting. Handsome too, yes, but mostly interesting." He looked at Garth pointedly. "He cannot resist them, he. Never does he try."

"_Where are you going with this?_" Reaver growled in Aragonian. Leonardo shot him a cheeky grin, but before he could continue, Garth spoke.

"And you, Leon?" he asked, with a quick glance at Reaver. Reaver relaxed slightly as Garth distracted his first mate.

"Me?" Leonardo blinked, sounding surprised that Garth had even asked. "Me, I like… men, yes. But I prefer women." He grinned. "Not Captain Reaver's women, no. Strong. Ample-bosomed." He held his arms out in front of him to demonstrate his point, and Reaver couldn't help but snort with laughter. Even Garth chuckled softly.

Leonardo glowed with pride at having extracted a laugh from the Mage. "These women, they like to be romanced, but never do they admit it, no. Watching them swoon in private is a triumph."

"Have you ever taken a woman aboard?" Garth asked. Leonardo gaped at him in horror and clapped his hands over his ears. Reaver sighed heavily.

"Oh, no, no! Do not speak like that, Wizard Garth! No, no…"

"Having a woman aboard is bad luck, or so the superstition goes," Reaver explained, as Garth stared at the pirate in confusion. "Nonsense, I know."

"You say that, you," Leonardo rounded on Reaver, shaking his fist at him. "But you think now; every time you have had a woman with you, bad things have happened. You know this, you do!"

"That sea monster attacked and there were no women on board," Garth pointed out bluntly. Leonardo glared at him.

"Oh, Wizard Garth, you are as cynical as he! You are welcome to each other! I wash my hands of you, I do!" And with that he hurried down onto the main deck, leaving Garth to stare at Reaver in bewilderment.

"I'm not sure what just happened," he admitted softly, and Reaver laughed.

Two days out from the Spire, Reaver eyed the horizon apprehensively. Storm clouds were building up, darkening with every moment. He knew that it could hit at any time; storms at sea were unpredictable like that.

Kevin was standing beside him. Though Reaver hadn't taken too much notice of the man before, he was beginning to see that Leonardo's faith in him wasn't entirely misplaced. He stared at the clouds too, clearly thinking the same thing as Reaver. "That looks like it might be trouble." he said lowly. Reaver nodded.

"I agree. Let the crew know." Reaver ordered, and Kevin took off. Reaver glanced over at Garth. The Mage was leaning on the side of the ship, watching the water pass silently. Though his sea legs had improved dramatically over the past few days, Reaver still did not want to risk having him on deck during a storm. "Mage."

Garth glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. He was distressed, Reaver knew, because they were nearing their destination.

"A storm could hit soon. You should go into the cabin."

Garth glanced up and frowned at the storm clouds. He shook his head. "Why? What of you?" he asked.

Reaver sighed in frustration. He had expected this, but that didn't make it any less annoying. "I'm staying up here, of course," he replied. "I don't know how long it will last. It could be five minutes, it could be five hours. Or it could bypass us completely, though I doubt it will." He beckoned Garth over and Garth complied, though he was scowling.

"So you'll have me cower in your cabin as the storm lashes you and your ship?" he snapped. "No, Reaver. I can help up here."

"Mage, _please._" Reaver all but begged, knowing that he would have to convince Garth another way_._ Garth stared at him as Reaver tilted his chin up to give himself access to the Mage's mouth.

"You've said so much yourself: you don't know all that much about ships. And I don't want to risk you falling overboard. Stay inside," Reaver whispered. "I'll join you there when it's safe."

After a moment, Garth sighed and nodded reluctantly. Reaver held back his triumphant smirk and kissed him instead.

"Go on," he said, and Garth wordlessly turned on his heel and made his way to their cabin. Reaver watched him go, only relaxing when he heard the cabin door click shut.

"_Who is he to you, _Captain?" a melodic voice asked him. Reaver glanced over his shoulder at Leonardo and cursed silently. He hadn't known his first mate was there, witnessing his exchange with Garth.

"_What do you mean?_" he replied in Aragonian. He was sure he sounded awkward and hesitant when he spoke this language, though not nearly as inelegant as Leonardo sounded when he spoke Alban. It still bothered him, and he wished he had more of a chance to practice the language. Reading it in books and conversing with others were entirely different, after all.

Leonardo joined him by the wheel, leaning against the nearby railing. "_I've seen you with him._" He refused to meet Reaver's eyes. "_There was a time, not so long ago, when I would have killed to have you look at me the way you do him._"

"_What way?_" Reaver growled. He was _not _going to have this conversation. Talking about this would force him to face several things about himself, things he hadn't had to face in… how many years? When was the last time he had actually cared about someone? A hundred and - he counted in his head - seventy three years ago, exactly. That hadn't ended well, either. Her throat had been slit before Reaver could turn around to shoot the enemy. "_Like I want to tie him to this wheel and fuck him as I steer the ship?_"

Leonardo gave an ill-bred snort, and examined Reaver for a long moment before he next spoke. "_Not at all,_" he replied, and his voice was hesitant. He was holding back what he truly wanted to say, Reaver could tell. His voice was far more expressive in Aragonian than it was in Alban. "_Like you never want anything bad to happen to him._"

"_If he were to fall overboard and drown, this voyage would be for nothing._"

"_He can't fall overboard on land,_ Captain."

Reaver snarled, anger flaring up in the pit of his stomach. "_You are a foolish, idealistic romantic,_" he snapped. "_Go below deck; you're not needed for this storm._"

Leonardo scowled, his eyes darkening as he looked Reaver over. "_I may be an idealistic romantic,_" he replied at length, turning away to retreat to his cabin. "_But you are the fool, _Captain."

"Fuck off." Reaver growled angrily in Alban, earning himself quite a few startled looks from his nearby crew. Leonardo maintained a dignified silence as he retreated gracefully to his cabin.

**

Lashes cutting into his back: twenty, thirty, too many. Screams as hot blades sliced into his skin. Struggling as his head was shoved into a trough of water, lungs screaming for air. Darkness as he was blindfolded, gagged, hands suspended above him. Grunts and groans of pain as he was bound to a table and raped. Months of solitary confinement.

And laughter. Always laughter.

Garth had thought he'd left the Tattered Spire behind for good. Why was he going back there? Surely they could fight the Spire Guards on their own. Sparrow had the _Normanomicon, _so surely there was no need for panic, no need for this voyage. They could wait for the Spire Guards to come to them, and then attack, couldn't they?

The ship rocked in the storm, and Garth hid his face in the pillows of the bunk. He was still fully clothed; he couldn't handle the thought of being naked, not with these memories plaguing his mind. Panic was building up inside him, causing his hands to shake and his Will to slip slowly away, and he desperately wished Reaver was here with him.

Reaver had kept him safe on this journey. He was always quick to take hold of Garth whenever the ship lurched, keeping him steady. Another of the new crewmen had died, Reaver shooting him when the man drunkenly grabbed Garth and asked him to 'play'. He had ordered Leon to control his curiosity and leave Garth alone. When Garth had caught sight of Reaver's panicked expression as Leon began to speak of his taste in men, Garth felt that changing the subject was the least he could do.

He had desperately wanted to stay by the Thief's side as the storm lashed the ship, foolish as it would have been. He was worried for Reaver, but he also had other, more selfish reasons for wanting to stay on deck. It would have forced him to keep his mind in the present, to stop his thoughts lingering darkly on the Spire and his memories.

He had almost won out, too. But when Reaver began to whisper gently to him, begging him to stay safe, he had felt his resolve melt away. He knew he was being manipulated, but when the Thief kissed him tenderly, he decided he didn't care.

He cared now, though. The storm lashed the ship, thunder rumbling above, and oh! Garth wished Reaver was with him, to chase away his horrific thoughts.

_Struggling as his head was wrenched back, liquid poured down his throat…_

Garth squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the pillow again. If he had felt helpless in the Temple of Shadows, it was nothing compared to the powerlessness he felt now.

He lost all track of time; the lurching, the thunder, it was all too repetitive, too predictable. He didn't sleep - at least, he didn't think he did - and it felt like an eternity passed before the cabin door opened and Reaver trudged in, weary and soaked to the bone. Garth propped himself up on his elbows, relief flooding through him at the sight of the bedraggled Thief.

"I hate storms," Reaver muttered, glancing at Garth. He began to peel his layers of wet clothing from his body. "The worst is over now. Three men fell overboard. One was fished out, but the other two are lost." He sighed wearily. "Oh well. Two less mouths to feed, I suppose." He dumped the top half of his clothing in a heap and began to work his soaked boots off.

"Are you all right?" Garth asked quietly, watching him. Reaver's mere presence soothed him, chasing his nightmarish memories to the back of his mind. Little by little, his hands stopped shaking, and his heart slowed.

Reaver scoffed. "Fine, Mage. Exhausted and freezing, but fine." He peeled his trousers off and went over to one of the cabinets, retrieving a light green towel. He began to dry himself off. "The men who weren't on deck during it are now. Leonardo is captaining. I suppose I should hang those out to dry," he added, eyeing the heap of wet clothing on the floor. Garth watched as he retrieved a coil of rope from one of the drawers, fastening one end of it to a hook high above the end of the bunk. He unravelled it across the length of the cabin and fastened the other end to another hook by the top of the last cabinet. Garth blinked; he hadn't even noticed the hooks before.

Carelessly, Reaver straightened his clothing out before tossing them over the makeshift clothesline. He finally stumbled over to the bunk and flopped down beside Garth gratefully, scoffing when he noticed Garth was still fully clothed. "Why are you wearing those?" he demanded.

Garth shook his head. He didn't feel like explaining himself. Reaver eyed him for a moment before pulling impatiently at his clothing, insisting silently that he take them off. Garth sighed and after a moment, stripped himself naked. Reaver rolled over and pressed a kiss to Garth's stomach - his lips were freezing. He dropped his head onto Garth's stomach in exhaustion and his hair was still wet. It chilled Garth's skin.

"I think I'm going to fall asleep," Reaver murmured. Garth smiled and pulled gently on Reaver's shoulders.

"Come here," he commanded soothingly.

Reaver crawled up beside him before flopping back down, his head resting on Garth's shoulder, one arm slung across Garth's chest. He was cold to the touch. Garth shifted to tug the sheet over them before wrapping his arms around the Thief, trying to warm him up. Reaver sighed in contentment.

"Do you want to tell me what happened to your eye?" he asked, and Garth paused, having forgotten that he had hinted that to Reaver. He swallowed thickly and nodded, but a sharp look from the Thief silenced him before he even began to speak.

"Why do you want to tell me?" he asked, and Garth stared at him, taken aback. "Is it because you think you know my darkest secret and you want to even the score?"

That gave Garth pause. "You mean I don't?" he asked, genuinely surprised. Reaver smiled at him wryly.

"Of course not," he replied softly. He examined Garth for a moment, his face unreadable. "Perhaps I will tell you one day, perhaps I won't. However, my original question still remains unanswered."

Garth sighed, realising that Reaver wasn't going to let this drop. "Yes, and no," he admitted softly, and Reaver rose an eyebrow at him. "Part of me thinks you should know, because I know about Oakvale."

Reaver's scoff interrupted him. "Leonardo knows about that, and he's certainly not clamouring to tell me his deepest, darkest secrets," he said shortly. Garth scowled.

"Another part of me _wants _to tell you," he snapped. "Though I certainly won't if you keep bringing _him _into this." The words were out of his mouth before his mind had a chance to process them. Reaver gave him a startled look, and Garth sighed heavily, embarrassed by his behaviour. "Apologies," he said, but Reaver shook his head.

"It's fine, Mage. It's rather flattering, actually." He grinned tiredly up at him. "You decide. Don't let me sway you, or Leonardo for that matter." He chuckled, and Garth grinned despite himself. He sighed and dropped his head back against the pillows, staring up at the roof sightlessly.

"My father burned it with a cigar." he admitted at length.

Reaver looked at him quickly, his expression unreadable. "He what?" he asked, as though he hadn't heard right. Garth smiled mirthlessly.

"I knocked over his bottle of spirits, and he was angry. I don't think he really knew what he was doing until my older brother pulled him off me." he said. He could remember the searing, white hot pain vividly as the smoke was pushed further into his eye, sticking there, his screams drowning out his father's furious, drunken roars-

"What happened to him?" Reaver asked at length.

"I killed him." Garth replied plainly. "Much later, with the most powerful Will spell I knew at the time."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen. Nine when he attacked me."

Reaver dropped his head back onto Garth's shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed. "A child," he murmured. "How abhorrent." He nuzzled Garth's neck sleepily. "I bet he was surprised when you zapped him," he mumbled. Garth chuckled humourlessly.

"No, the other bandits were. I killed my father by using a Force Push spell to crush him against a tree."

"Bandits, hmm? Irksome creatures, those." Reaver was falling asleep. Garth supposed he shouldn't begrudge the Thief for it, seeing as he had just spent however long battling against a storm. "At least he's dead now. Torture is so unseemly. Best to shoot to kill, less mess that way…"

Garth allowed him to mumble without interruption, content with just lying with the Thief. He was warming up slowly, his hair drying against Garth. Garth tightened his hold on him.

"We'll reach the Spire soon," Reaver muttered suddenly. Garth flinched, realising he was right. They were what, two days away from it? It didn't matter; he would soon have to face that hateful place.

"It'll be all right." Reaver mumbled. Garth blinked and looked down at him, but when he finally found the words to answer, Reaver was asleep.


	14. The Tattered Spire

"That's the entrance, there." Garth pointed quietly, his expression closed.

The Spire was massive. Of course, Reaver had always known it was big, but seeing it this close was another thing entirely. It seemed to stretch forever into the sky. It was overwhelming now, to consider how many people it would have taken to build in just twenty years. Reaver had been worried that his ship would be too big to sail into the Spire, but now that he saw the entrance, he realised his fears were ridiculous.

Garth had hardly spoken at all during the last 24 hours. He was now leaning against the railing by Reaver, his arms wrapped around himself protectively. He didn't look up, he didn't meet Reaver's gaze, he just stared down at the main deck expressionlessly as he struggled internally with his memories.

Leonardo shivered violently beside Reaver, his dark eyes unusually cheerless as he gazed up at the structure. "_This place is evil,_" he whispered in Aragonian. He glanced at Reaver. "_It haunts your mage._" he pointed out warningly.

Reaver nodded and turned his attention to Garth. "Mage, come here." he commanded softly. But Garth shook his head, his gaze unmoving from the deck.

"Garth." Reaver tried, but Garth shook his head again, and Reaver didn't try anymore.

For the first time since the beginning of the voyage, the ship was utterly quiet. The men that came from below deck soon fell silent as they gazed around at the malignant structure, its walls dark and jagged, never-ending. They were barely inside when the sunlight seemed to just _stop,_ creating further unease among the sailors.

"There's wretched spirits here," Kevin said, from somewhere on the main deck. "You can feel them." While Reaver thought that most sailors were overly superstitious, he couldn't help but agree with the man. Despair lingered in the air, suffocating, and the sense of suffering in this place was heavy. Thousands had died here. Reaver wondered if Sparrow might regret his wish were he to visit the Spire now.

"That sound, what is it?" Leonardo asked breathlessly. "You can feel it, you can. It pounds into your head."

Garth shook his head. "It's nothing to fear," he murmured. "But if you must get off the ship, stay close by. That sound grows more powerful the deeper you go into the Spire."

"What is it?" someone asked. Garth sighed.

"Will." he said expressionlessly. "It's trying to sap ours."

The docks were enormous; there was enough room for the ship to turn back around when they left. When they anchored, they did so uneasily, craning their necks to see beyond the stone docks. Though they were at sea level, water cascaded over what looked like a ledge, down into the abyss. What the hell was this place? Reaver was beginning to feel extremely lucky that he hadn't experienced too much of it.

Garth hesitated briefly before getting off the ship, his eye scanning over the structure. Reaver was quick to follow him, pausing only momentarily to indicate to Leonardo that he was in charge for now. Leonardo nodded, uncharacteristically grim.

Glancing over his shoulder as he followed the Mage to the main quad, Reaver wasn't surprised to see that his crew had all chosen to remain onboard. He could see that many were even retreating below deck. This place frightened them.

Garth walked a step ahead of him, his head down and his arms folded across his chest. "I never thought I would walk willingly back into this place," he murmured, a touch of bitter humour in his voice.

"How do you get deeper inside?" Reaver asked. Ahead of them, up several lots of steps, he could see the central tower, but it seemed to be separate from the rest of the building.

"Up these second lot of steps, on either side of the platform, is a Cullis Gate." Garth replied, indicating with a nod of his head. "They will take you straight to the Commandant's chamber, which gives you access to the rest of the Spire." He faltered for a moment. "We needn't worry about them, though. Lucien transported us to that central tower straight ahead, and that is where I believe Theresa will be."

"She had better have the answers we need," Reaver growled, though he knew his threats would be no use against her. She was immortal, he could tell. He could remember reading about her, many years ago: the sister of the supposedly great Hero of Oakvale. He had taken note of her ruined eyes when they first met, but it was only when Hammer said her name did it click with him who the woman really was. Why _she_ was immortal, and not her brother, was a curious thing to Reaver.

He paused, an idea coming to him. Perhaps she could tell him about immortality? He told himself not to get his hopes up - after all, she was never exactly straightforward with the four Heroes - but he couldn't help the little excited flutter in his chest. It was the first thing other than unease he had felt since stepping foot into this place.

Up the third lot of steps was when they began to come across the bones. Skeletons of the men remained unmoved from where they fell all those years ago. Signs of clothing remained and the scent of death still lingered, though Reaver couldn't tell if he was just imagining it or not. Garth seemed genuinely surprised by the remains, his visible eye widening as he halted to stare down at them briefly. After a moment he shook his head, and continued.

The light coming from the central tower was blinding. Had it been that bright last time? Reaver didn't think so. Garth halted, staring at it hesitantly, seemingly unbothered by the light, and Reaver sighed.

"You worry like a woman." he said shortly. Garth glanced at him, taken aback, a bark of startled laughter following. Reaver grinned, thankful that his comment had been met with good humour.

The light blinded him as he stepped through the door, and he heard her before his eyes focused enough to see her.

"Welcome, Garth. Reaver."

Beside him, Garth chuckled humourlessly. "You aren't surprised." he observed darkly.

She hadn't even moved from where she had appeared all those years ago. Her hands were still held in front of her, her fingers linked together comfortably. Underneath her hood the whites of her eyes seemed to _glow,_ as blind as Garth's and yet, eerily different as she faced them as though she _could _see them.

"I had a vision." Theresa's smile was enigmatic, infuriating Reaver to the point where he had to physically restrain himself from reaching for his pistol by folding his arms across his chest. There was no point in trying to kill an immortal, after all.

"How nice for you," he replied tersely. "Any other 'visions' we should know about, or are you all sighted out?" He fell silent at Garth's warning glance, though the scowl remained on his face.

"Then you know why we are here," Garth said, his voice neutral. She nodded.

"Lucien's men seek to revive him," she replied plainly. A moment passed before she spoke again. "I've seen this, and I've seen them attack you. But I do not know what I can do to help."

"Why can you see some things and not others?" Reaver complained loudly. Though he thought it a valid question, Garth silenced him with another infuriated glance.

"We were _hoping _you could tell us where the Guards are hiding now." he said. Reaver caught the faint note of irritation in his voice.

Theresa sounded amused when she spoke next. "Why do you expect me to know?" she asked.

Reaver clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to shoot her. Oh, he hated this woman. Blind old bat. He forced himself to grin and shrug his shoulders, even as Garth stared at her blankly.

"Oh, never mind," he said lightly, turning as if to leave. "I suppose you won't be bothered too much when Lucien tries to take this place back over, after all." He heard Theresa sigh long-sufferingly, and fought the urge to dance at her in triumph.

"Be silent," she ordered coldly. "I will search Albion for you."

_I am ridiculously awesome,_ Reaver wanted to say, but he held his tongue and grinned triumphantly at Garth instead. Garth shook his head, a small, weak smile playing across his lips.

An eternity seemed to pass before Theresa spoke again, though Reaver was never particularly good at sitting still. He was contemplating exploring this accursed place further when she broke the silence.

"They are in Brightwood." she said heavily. She sounded exhausted, Reaver noted curiously. "Somewhere by Garth's old Tower. That is the best I can do."

"That hardly narrows it down!" Reaver protested, as Garth's posture slumped beside him. Theresa was unmoved.

"It is the best I can do," she repeated firmly. Reaver huffed irritably.

"Fine," he growled. "I have one more question, this one about your immortality." He ignored Garth's surprised glance.

"My immortality?" Theresa sounded too innocent again. Well, Reaver was more than willing to play her game this time. He shrugged, pulled out his gun and, ignoring Garth's startled exclamation, shot her. She gasped and stumbled, but she did not bleed. She did not fall.

She regained her composure fairly quickly, straightening herself up before she faced Reaver again. "What do you want to know?" she asked coldly. She was angry at being outmanoeuvred. Reaver enjoyed her games when he won.

"How you gained yours." he said simply. Garth raised an eyebrow at him, but he waved the Mage away with a quick flick of his hand. Perhaps he would explain, in time.

"Are you growing tired of having to answer to the Shadow Court?" Theresa sounded amused now. The woman's tempers changed as quickly as the ocean's. Reaver smiled tersely.

"Quite." he lied. She actually chuckled.

"I will tell you several ways of going about it." she replied. "The first is to rediscover the formula for an immortality potion created by the Old Kingdom alchemists."

"How simple, it's a wonder I never thought of it," Reaver muttered sarcastically. Theresa pointedly ignored him.

"The second is to be a descendant of the old Archons," she continued. "Though this isn't a guaranteed way. And the third is to prove yourself to the Old Gods."

"They're real?" Garth exclaimed suddenly, unease temporarily forgotten. His face had lit up with the prospect of a discovery, the way Reaver had only seen happen a few times when he worked in his study.

"Real enough to grant you immortality," Theresa said shortly, deflating his good spirits easily. Such convoluted answers were to be expected from her, and they could mean any number of things. Garth sighed softly.

"Of course." he muttered.

"There are other, darker ways," Theresa said to Reaver. "But I suppose you don't wish to know them."

Reaver cocked an eyebrow at her. "Oh? What makes you say that?" he asked curiously.

"Because I know you don't intend to use them." she replied, sounding amused, and it took Reaver a moment to realise what she actually meant. He scowled furiously, glaring at her, knowing that she _knew, _and hating her for it. He wished he could kill her.

"Go now," she ordered, her tone leaving no opportunity for argument. "This is your world, not mine. It is beyond my time, and of no importance to me. My place is here now."

"I'll let Sparrow know you said hello," Reaver grumbled sarcastically, gesturing for Garth to leave with him. The white light blinded him again as he turned back to the entrance.

"Reaver."

He looked over his shoulder at her. She was unmoving, her sightless eyes seemingly _focused _on him. She unnerved him.

"You aren't entirely the same as you were," she said enigmatically. "But change too quickly and it could kill you. Remember that."

He stared at her blankly for a moment, waiting for her to elaborate and huffing a moment later when she didn't. He seized Garth's hand and all but pulled him from the tower, pausing only to allow his eyes to refocus on their surroundings. He ignored the crunch of bones under his feet as he marched down the stairs back to his ship, his hand still grasping Garth's tightly.

"Stone-blind bitch," he grumbled under his breath. "_I wish I could smack her face off of her face._"

Garth stared at him blankly, and it took Reaver a moment to realise he had spoken in Aragonian. Alternating between languages to speak with Leonardo had taken a toll on his brain, it seemed.

He was curious to explore the Spire, but he knew the delay wouldn't be appreciated. He was sure his mind could conjure up much more exciting - and bearable - images than the Spire had to offer, anyway.

The crew were antsy, and were visibly relieved when Garth and Reaver stepped back onto the ship. How long had they been gone? Ten minutes at the most, surely. Yet the men were acting as though an eternity had passed. Garth didn't utter a word, retreating quickly into their cabin. Reaver frowned.

"I'll just sail her out, it's all right," he called after his lover. He didn't receive a reply, and honestly, he hadn't expected one.

Leonardo joined him by the wheel. "Did you find your answers?" he asked curiously, sounding a little more like the man Reaver knew.

"Yes and no," Reaver replied, frustrated. "'Somewhere in the north of Brightwood.' Fucking _Brightwood._ Have you any idea how big that place is, Leonardo?"

"I can hazard a guess, Captain." Leonardo replied dryly. "You said yourself that you were not expecting to find any answers, so technically, you found more than you hoped you would." He grinned when Reaver huffed in frustration. Already he was beginning to relax, now that they were leaving the Spire. "Never mind, Captain, never mind. Who did you shoot? I heard the gunshot."

"The woman I told you about," Reaver grumbled. "I actually wasted a bullet on her. I'm disappointed in myself."

Leonardo laughed. "Well, Captain, perhaps you will get lucky, and the tower will collapse in on her." The imagery made Reaver chuckle.

Garth paced back and forth in the cabin, agitated and distressed. Oh, fuck, he hated that place. He had been so weak, so utterly helpless in it, and the moment he felt that pulsing beneath his feet, those feelings had returned. It was ludicrous, the sheer amount of time it had taken to summon his Will in order to kill _one _Guard, the toll it had taken on his body to destroy the Spire Collars. At any other time, he wouldn't have even broken a sweat. That place was fucking evil, and he was glad they were sailing out of there as quickly as possible.

But the feelings lingered. He still felt helpless, so utterly out of control that it was making him grind his teeth and tear at his hair. He needed them to stop, he needed the memories to go away, he needed to regain some semblance of control before he went mad and began lobbing massive Fireballs at anything that presented a large enough target. He wanted to go up on deck, but knew he couldn't, not until they were far enough away from the Spire that he wouldn't hear the ocean crashing against it.

The cabin door opened and Reaver entered, his face a mask of neutrality as he sat down on one of the chairs by the table, watching Garth the entire time. Moments passed, and it became obvious to Garth that both were waiting for the other to speak first. He sighed.

"What?"

"You're paler than Sparrow." Reaver stated flatly. Garth didn't know why that was supposed to be such an insult, given that Sparrow was rather tanned from his constant travelling; he raised an eyebrow.

"Comparatively," Reaver elaborated, and Garth chuckled at the sheer absurdity of it. "Well?"

"Well what?" Garth demanded, and Reaver gave a long-suffering sigh.

"I'm not going to sit here and fuck myself, you know."

Garth stared at him, speechless, for a moment. "Sex is the _last _thing on my mind." he growled.

"But it _is _on your mind?"

"You're simply going to have to fuck yourself," Garth replied, forcing himself to keep his cool. _Breathe_, he told himself, _and cut his genitalia off later._ "I certainly don't want to do it."

"I'm telling you, you do."

"And I'm telling you that if you continue to push your luck, you'll find yourself in a _very _compromising position, hanging from the mast!"

Reaver stared at him with that unreadable expression for a moment longer, before doubling over with laughter. Garth glared at him, unappreciative of becoming the butt of the joke, especially since he had no idea why, but slowly his anger began to fade away because Reaver's laughter sounded so genuine, so real, and it wasn't often that Garth got to hear it.

"Feel better now?" he grumbled, when Reaver finally calmed down.

"Certainly," Reaver replied, hints of mirth still in his voice. "And you?"

_That _took Garth by surprise. "Pardon?"

"I asked if you felt better. You looked like you were ready to maul something when you got back on the ship."

Garth smiled wryly. "And you thought to become my punching bag?"

"It did look that way for a while, didn't it?"

Garth felt his anxiety fade away, if only for the moment, and he cracked his first real smile in what felt like days. "You're such a fool."

"And you're a grump." Reaver replied cheerily. "But now that we're both here, I have a little game I want us to play."

"A sex game." It wasn't a question - Garth knew Reaver well enough in this regard. If the man started to talk about sex, you could damn well bet he _wanted _it.

"Indeed." Reaver lounged back in his chair, a wicked smile curling his lips upward. "I can assume you're at least slightly interested, given that I've yet to be mauled, verbally or otherwise."

"Be out with it."

"Well, dear Mage, I've noticed that you _severely _dislike getting held down, so I can only assume this would translate over to, say, if I were to tie you up." Reaver chuckled when Garth wrinkled his nose. "I thought as much. The problem is, _I _like a little bondage, so I thought we could compromise. A bondage without the bonds sort of thing."

In spite of his earlier dismissal, Garth was definitely curious now. What was going on in Reaver's evil little mind? "I'm listening."

"Good." Getting out of his chair, Reaver took Garth by the hand and led him over to the bunk, instructing him to lie down. Garth did so somewhat hesitantly, and watched with curiosity as Reaver guided his hands to grip the bedpost.

"_That _is what I would tie you to. Instead, you are to hold it yourself, and know that if you let go for any reason other than panic, I'll immediately stop what I'm doing and leave you thoroughly cock-blocked." Reaver flashed a cheeky grin. "But also know that if you _do _begin to panic, you can simply let go and throw me across the cabin with your freakish blue powers."

"Why blue?"

"Your Will scars are blue. I've equated magic with the colour because of it."

Garth softly snorted and glanced at his hands, still obediently gripping the post. Reaver was right, and there was absolutely nothing threatening about his little idea at all. "What would you do?"

The mischievous glint in Reaver's eyes was now firmly in place. "Ah, dear Mage," he drawled. "What is the fun in _knowing _something like this? Far better for it to be a surprise, I always find."

Garth shifted and tried to ignore Reaver's handsome smile… and found the last of his resistance crumbling. "This had better be worth its hype," he warned, though he was grinning. "And _you _know that if you try anything strange, you _will _find yourself flying across the room."

Reaver laughed. "I would expect nothing less from you," he replied, and kissed him. Garth kissed back and, immediately forgetting the rules, let go of the bedpost and tangled his hands in Reaver's hair. Reaver jerked back, a mixture of amusement and disbelief on his face.

"That was quick, Mage."

Garth cursed and dropped his head back onto the pillows. Reaver laughed and positioned his hands around the bedpost again.

"Try again. Don't be so absent-minded this time."

Garth chuckled despite himself and gripped the post almost painfully tight, as a constant reminder of the rules of Reaver's little game. Reaver kissed him again and this time, Garth resisted the urge to pull him closer. Garth groaned as Reaver pulled away and began planting kisses down his neck, pausing to nibble on his collarbone as nimble hands worked to unfasten the clasps on Garth's jacket.

Garth arched his back slightly as Reaver nipped at the delicate skin on his chest, repeating to himself _don't let go, don't let go _like a mantra as Reaver's tongue followed a particularly prominent Will scar down his navel.

"I do so enjoy the tingling those pretty blue lines leave on my tongue," Reaver said lightly as he began to remove Garth's trousers. He was grinning as though he was having the time of his life, though Garth barely noticed it. He had two things to concentrate on: his hands around the bedpost, and Reaver's mouth on his body, and right now his so-called brilliant mind was threatening to be overwhelmed. When Reaver instructed him to lift his hips he did so almost mechanically, the cool air on his now naked legs his only indication that Reaver had actually removed his trousers. It was only when he felt Reaver's mouth move dangerously close to his erection that he realised what the man was planning to do, and he sat bolt upright, startling Reaver.

"You don't have to do that." he said quickly, feeling his face heat up as he tried to push Reaver back. Reaver batted his hands away impatiently.

"You are most definitely the dumbest smart person I know. Of _course _I don't have to do anything." He gave Garth a scrutinising look. "Did it ever occur to you that I might find it enjoyable?"

Garth was unconvinced. He had never found such an act enjoyable, after all. "But-"

"But nothing, Mage." Reaver interrupted irritably. "Does it look like anyone is forcing me to do this? Your experience is not universal. Now sit back, put your hands back on the bedpost and _let me suck your goddamned dick._"

Garth's face heated brilliantly at Reaver's language, and he found himself unable to do anything other than what he was told. When Reaver asked him if he had ever been on the receiving end of oral sex, Garth shook his head, pointedly ignoring the wicked grin he received in reply. He gasped as Reaver's hot tongue slid up the length of his erection, and when Reaver finally took him into his mouth, it felt like a shock to his system.

Reaver seemed to have no gag reflex at all as he inched down Garth's length, swallowing him completely. He swirled his tongue around the hard flesh and when he began to suck, Garth gripped the bedpost so tightly that he was sure either his hands or the post would break.

He bit down on his bottom lip to stifle a groan as Reaver pulled back and sucked on the tip, and when Reaver swallowed the length again and began to hum, Garth couldn't quite remember why this hadn't been such a fantastic idea in the first place. He lifted his head to look down at the Thief - oh god, was Reaver jerking himself off, too? - and he couldn't bite back a moan at the sight.

Reaver pulled away completely and chuckled, stroking Garth's erection as fast as his reflexes allowed as he grinned. "Enjoying yourself now, Mage?" he asked, his tone slightly breathless. Garth took in his tousled hair, the light dusting of pink across his cheeks, and his swollen lips, and felt a familiar warmth begin to pool quickly at the pit of his stomach. How he longed to touch the Thief!

"Yes," he gasped out, his hands clutching the bedpost so hard that he was sure they would be bruised. "I think… _Ooh._"

"I like this," Reaver breathed, the wicked grin never leaving his face. "Utterly speechless." He descended back down onto the length and sucked _hard, _and Garth didn't bother to stifle his moans as he thrashed and twisted in pleasure, his hands never leaving the post. With a final cry of Reaver's name he came, his body spasming as Reaver swallowed his seed.

Reaver pulled back after a moment, closing his eyes as he concentrated on bringing himself to completion. With a final groan he climaxed too, catching most of it in his hand. His breath shuddering, he rested his forehead upon Garth's stomach as they both basked in their afterglow.

"You can-" Reaver cleared his throat. "You can let go of the post now," he said, his voice a little hoarse. Garth did so gratefully, and began to flex his aching fingers as Reaver stood up to find a towel.

"Why did we go to the blasted Spire," Reaver began as he cleaned his hand. "When we could have been having fun like that?" He flashed Garth a grin and tossed the soiled towel aside.

"I don't know," Garth replied honestly, still in a bit of a daze. Reaver laughed and climbed into the bunk with him.

"Rest easy now, Mage. That awful pointy rock is behind us."


End file.
